


From the Ashes Flowers Bloom

by IxBirch



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Constipation, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Past Relationship(s), Plotty, Profanity (lots of it), Religious Guilt, Secret Relationship, Strangers to Lovers, Survivor Guilt, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, ish?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:14:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29855877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IxBirch/pseuds/IxBirch
Summary: You've spent the last four years avoiding staying in one place for too long due to the belief in the superstitions of your mother's religion. After the murder of your adoptive brother, you begin to learn the truth of the larger conspiracy that's left a pile of bodies wherever you go.Deciding to confront the root of the problem head-on, you find yourself reforging old relationships, for better or for worse.❦I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, any of the characters, or anything outside of my own characters and lore.Do notpost my work anywhere else. Thank you.
Relationships: Roy Mustang/Original Female Character(s), Roy Mustang/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	1. White Peony

**Author's Note:**

> -[🎵](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1XNMEjVIsfCLRiNK3pKOK3?si=x35vodubSrCdVQyc1uQUPQ)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I know you have seen things you wish you hadn't. You have done things you wish you could take back. And you wonder why you were thrown into the thick of it all—why you had to suffer the way you did. And as you are sitting there alone and hurting, I wish I could put a pen in your hand and gently remind you how the world has given you poetry and now you must give it back._   
> 
> 
> Lang Leav, "Poetry" 

### Early Summer 1914

The train steadily chugs along the tracks, its gentle motions nearly lulling you into a steady sleep. It’s late—you took the last train to East City from Dublith on an impulse. 

The more you consider it, the more you wonder whether it was truly an impulse. A simple update from your adoptive brother on the work he’s doing in Central and a nightmare… Was it an impulse, or a necessity?

Shit. Whatever the cause for it, all you truly know is that the urge to protect those you ~~love~~ deeply care about. Even if you haven’t spoken in four years. A dull throbbing starts in your right temple, signaling the start of a tension headache.

After finding the tiny pack of pain relievers, you grab your canteen from your bag. Tossing back the pills, you consider what it is that you’re even doing.

_“Hughes’ residence, Maes speaking,” he greets, and you are filled with relief at hearing the sincere voice of your adoptive brother._

_“Hey. It’s me,” you breathe._

_“Poppy? Well isn’t this a pleasant surprise!”_

_“Agh, I told you to stop calling me that,” you grumble._

_“Maybe if you visited more often, I’d be inclined to stop.”_

_“No you wouldn’t,” you laugh._

_He shares your chuckle. “No, I wouldn’t. So to what do I owe this call?”_

_“I wanted to come by for my niece’s birthday coming up. I know it’s not for another month, but I’ll be leaving for Xing shortly after and so I want to spend time with my favorite people.”_

_“Xing? You haven’t been in nearly five years. Are you sure **now** is a good time to travel?”_

_“I need to finish my research, Maes,” you sigh. “The person I was working with died five years ago and I haven’t picked up the research since then. But forget about that. Is it okay if I visit?”_

_He pauses, and when he speaks again, you can hear the easy smile. “You don’t have to ask. We always have room here for you. I’m involved in a pretty intensive case at the moment, so I can’t guarantee you’ll see a lot of me, but Gracia and Elicia will be happy to have you!”_

_“They aren’t overworking you again, are they?” you bristle. You hate the military and what they’ve done to your brother, to your—whatever the fuck he was to you._

_“No, no. There’s a serial killer targeting State Alchemists. We’re working on stopping him, warning potential targets. If ever there was a moment I was glad you turned down Roy’s offer, it’s now, Poppy.”_

_“Maes—you should **always** be glad for that.”_

_“I still don’t understand why you two won’t—”_

_“Okay, I’m going to stop you right there. I’ll see you soon, Maes.”_

_His laugh warms you, reminds you of a home long lost. “I’ll see you soon, Poppy.”_

But it wasn’t just _that_. It was the dream. The flashes of the accident that took your parents, the murder of your twin brother, the Truth, taunting you, teasing you, and finally, the embrace of the man you ~~loved~~ before he was killed in your arms.

You couldn’t do anything about the deaths of your parents or your brother or even your friend and his people, but maybe you could do something about _this_ , make sure that _he_ doesn’t fall victim to the curse that plagues your existence. Perhaps it was for forsaking the God of your mother, of Aerugo, damning you and your family for dabbling in Alchemy, in something that humans have no business dabbling in. 

All she wanted when she came to Amestris was to study bio-alchemy, to find out if it were possible for Amestrian Alchemy to have medical applications. Before Fuhrer Bradley came into power, Aerugo and Amestris had been trying to ease tensions with a peaceful exchange—Aerugo would increase trading between the two nations while decreasing tariffs, and in exchange, Aerugonian scholars would be granted the opportunity to learn from Amestris’ advancements for non-militaristic applications. 

Your mother had never intended to meet your father, a historian working for the military, never intended to marry an Amestrian. Her parents wrote her, condemning her for having turned her back on God, for marrying ‘the enemy’, for having damned her children. You and Basil had been granted dual citizenship between the two nations, something no longer offered during the current regime and the renewed fighting at the border. 

Perhaps it was all _that_ that damned you, cursed you. Perhaps it was the actions of your mother, as your grandparents suggested. Perhaps it was the insistence of your brother that human transmutation was possible, that the two of you could bring them back. Perhaps it was your hysteric attempts to bring Basil back, costing you your leg at fourteen, truly making it impossible for you to support yourself. 

The Truth. The truth is that human transmutation is impossible because there is no equivalent to a human soul. The truth is that Amestrian Alchemy is almost completely incompatible with medical applications because it has the tendency to err into the realm of human transmutation, but that Xing has a different approach, one that _is_ compatible. One that would better enable you to help those put in danger by your presence.

Even if everyone disagrees with your theory, you don’t spend more than a month in any one place. You won’t risk it. Not again. You don’t believe in coincidence, only in intelligent design and planned obsolescence and extinction. How could you not, when you’ve met God? 

The pain relievers are kicking in, helping ease your worried mind into a soft slumber.

❦

It’s raining when the train arrives at the East City Station. You’re among the first passengers to disembark, and it’s then that you realize you don’t even know what you’re going to say when you see him. _If_ you even gather up the courage to see him. 

The last time you had interacted with him, he was recruiting alchemists for the State Alchemist program. He let it slip that his previous stop was an eleven-year-old, and you used that as all the justification you needed to push him away. And each consequential year that you would visit with Riza, she wondered aloud why you had forgiven her, but not the Colonel. Each year, you would shrug and change the subject.

Shit. What are you even doing here? Why can’t you just leave him alone? Let him move on from the last nine years? Leave him to his dreams of a better Amestris? Why did you allow your selfishness to win out each time?

Fuck.

Walking through the streets, you’re distracted by the familiar flash of blue and the sound of a building crumbling. Using what you know of Alkahestry, you’re able to detect two distinct sets of chi, diametric in nature, and as you approach the alley, there’s another strike of blue and a loud clanging of metal as it hits the ground.

“Al!” you hear as a kid is thrown out of the alleyway and into the middle of the street. A man follows wearing glasses and a tan coat, and you catch yourself wondering why the latter is attacking a child.

“An automail arm. That explains why my attacks didn’t do the damage I expected,” the man speaks, but—you know that voice. You heard it nine years ago when you finally met the man helping you with your research.

You mutter his name and he glances in your direction, confirming your suspicions.

“That man you once knew is dead. Stay out of my way, and for the sake of my brother, no harm will come to you.”

There’s a chime and a flash of blue as the kid creates a weapon from his arm and you’re certain that your heart is going to beat out of your chest. Someone calls to the kid, begging him not to, and when you look, you see a disembodied suit of armor. Did—Is there a soul bound to the armor?

The Ishvalan comments on the alchemist’s transmutation and it’s only then that you realize—he’s seen the Truth, too. He’s made the same mistake as you, which is how he was able to bind the soul to the armor. You understand what’s about to happen a second too late. Pushing forward, you prepare to kick him away with your right leg as he grabs ahold of the kid’s arm and deconstructs it. 

Your blow lands, hitting him square in the chest, flinging him into the building to the left of you. Turning to the kid, you’re vaguely aware of the soul calling out for his brother. 

“Are you okay?” you ask the blonde, but he gives no answer, no acknowledgment of you as shock sets in. He probably felt it, felt the nerves firing in rapid secession as his arm was torn apart. Even with your alchemy, there’s no way you could fix this—no, you can only hope that his engineer isn’t too far away. 

The chi behind you moves and you grab the push knives from your drop bag. 

“I will give you a moment to pray to God,” he says behind you. Ever the monk, even if he is partaking in the blasphemy of Ishvala. 

“I’m afraid we don’t see eye to eye,” you tell him, turning just enough for your throws to maintain accuracy—not any hit him with how quickly he moves. He’s in front of you in a flash, grabbing you by the throat and lifting you up.

“I gave you the opportunity to leave,” he tells you as your hands pathetically try to pry his grip from you, trying to distract him from one last trick up your… well, pants. The sound of fabric tearing distracts him as you bring your right leg up, trying to cut him with the blade you had your engineer install. 

He drops you, but not before you tear through his shirt. As you fall on your ass, you see the faintest line of red developing on the barely exposed skin. He grunts in frustration before pushing forward on the balls of his feet, ready to strike again—

_CRACK!_

Both of you stop, and you take the opportunity to look in the direction of the gunfire. Roy’s arm is still extended upwards, handgun steaming slightly from the barrel. He brought nine men with him—well, eight men and Riza. ~~In all honesty, he could have just brought Riza and it would’ve had the same effect.~~

“That’s enough! You won’t be killing anyone else today, Scar,” he orders, eyes firmly on the Ishvalan. ‘Scar’? Is that what he’s going by? It wouldn’t surprise you considering that everything he is doing or tried to do is in direct contradiction with Ishvala. “I’m taking you into custody, where you will answer for the murders of at least ten State Alchemists.”

Wait. “You’re the one?” you whisper as he steps away from you. He doesn’t answer, and you feel safer with Riza’s eyes on you, so you take the opportunity to check on the kid. “Are you okay? Are you hurt, anywhere besides your arm?” 

He shakes his head, eyes flickering to your face, then your leg. He’s about to ask something when you hear Scar identify Roy’s rank. You turn your head, watching as he—oh _no_ , the **_idiot_**.

Roy steps forward, cocky fucking smile on his face as he prepares to—fuck if you know because it’s _raining_ and he’s useless when it rains. Riza moves behind him and you’re grateful that _someone_ is thinking today. 

Completing your circle with a clap, you bring your hands down to the wet cobblestone. Riza kicks Roy, making him slide, as you push Scar up and away from him, closer to the soldiers ready to fire. 

There’s a small gasp from behind you as Riza starts firing. Scar hops backward, dodging all of them. He’s gotten faster since the last time you saw him. He dodges behind an entrance, avoiding the last of Riza’s bullets as Roy argues with his men. 

Detecting a familiar chi, you turn your head slightly to the left and see Alex approaching, gauntlets in place. It’s always a pleasure to watch that man work. Soldiers come up from behind you, placing a coat on the kid as the ground shakes with Alex’s attack. Warm hands grab at your shoulders, and you look up to see Jean pulling you up.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asks.

“Fuck if I know,” you mutter, eyes fixing themselves on Alex and Scar. “If Alex is here, then is Maes here, too?” 

“I’m not sure. We didn’t even expect Armstrong to be here,” he tells you.

The cool stormy air trickles in through the opening in your pants, and you bend over to fix the cut. If it weren’t for your alchemy, you’d spend too much on pants. 

“Who is he?” the kid asks.

Jean turns away from you to acknowledge the smaller blonde. “That’s the man who murdered Mr. Tucker and his daughter.”

He killed—? Why is he going after _children?_ Is he that far gone, _that_ distraught by his family’s deaths at the hands of Order #3066 that it justifies _this?!_

Riza starts firing a rifle as Alex jumps back. She grazes him with a single bullet, enough to knock his glasses off. 

“Of course! He’s an Ishvalan!” Roy says, a little louder than you think he intended. With his men surrounding Scar, he orders Scar to give up. Instead, Scar’s right hand makes contact with the ground, sending tremors throughout the city as he demolishes the street under his feet. A cloud of dust and rubble fills the air. 

As the dust settles, you hear the familiar voice of your adoptive brother. 

“Oh! Is it over now?”

You turn to face him as Alex chastises him for his disappearance and you can’t help but scoff in disbelief. Looking away, your eyes land on Roy. As if he could feel your gaze, his eyes flicker to you and you struggle to push back the heat that’s rising to your cheeks. 

“Oh, no! Alphonse!” 

Everyone turns to watch the kid approach his brother. 

“That suit of armor is Elric’s younger brother, is it?” you hear Alex ask.

Elric. He’s the Fullmetal Alchemist. He’s the one Roy recruited four years ago. That explains why Scar went after him if he’s targeting State Alchemists, but he’s just a kid.

“Poppy! What are you doing here?” Maes asks as he approaches you.

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you turn to face him. “Stop calling me that!”

“It’s much harder not to when your tattoo is on display like that,” he points to your neck. “But that doesn’t answer my question.”

“Are you asking as my brother, or as Lieutenant Colonel?”

“Can’t I ask as both?”

Sighing, you give him half of the answer he wants. “I was passing by when that building came down. The kid—”

“Edward?” he asks, following your line of sight.

“Yeah. He went flying into the street, followed by Scar. Maes, I know him,” you tell him ~~not at all because you hope this will distract him from _why_ you are here~~.

“Really? Well, that’s something. In that case, I’ll need you to come back to Eastern Command with us.” 

The sun comes out from behind the clouds as you follow Maes to Roy. Roy’s team goes to comfort the Elric brothers.

“I’ve stumbled into an extra special kind of freak show, huh?” You lightly shove his arm as Roy apologizes for Maes’ involvement. “Heh. Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone upstairs. If this got out, things would get complicated,” he says, fixing you with a keen stare. “Poppy here says she knows of Scar. We’ll be taking her back to Command to get her statement.”

Roy gives you an exasperated sigh. “And how is _that?”_ Fuck, you could drown in his eyes.

You lick your lips as the rest of your mouth goes dry under his attention. It’s dangerous to be around him. You can’t even stop the coquettish smirk that forms on your lips before you answer. “I’m just an interesting person, Roy. Who doesn’t want to know me?”

His answering smile is absolutely devilish and heartbreaking and your chest flutters a little. “I can’t argue with you there.” 

Oh, no.

❦

Three hours later, you’re sitting in the hall outside of Roy’s office. They’re officially debriefing Roy’s men and Alex, something that you’re not quite allowed to be a part of as a civilian. Just being here is anxiety-inducing. Your body is split between wanting to go to the familiar residence and taking off, going to Central and hiding in the Hughes’ guest room. 

There’s shouting, a voice you’ve learned to recognize as Edward. It gets louder for a moment as Maes lets himself out of the office and joins you in the hall. 

“Sorry about the wait, Pop. Roy’s been explaining the Ishvalan conflict to the boys.”

“It’s fine, Maes. What’s _not_ fine is that you can’t shorten a nickname.”

He chuckles, looking at your neck. “Can I see it? It looks like you’ve finished it.” You shrug out of your coat so he can better see the inked skin. “I know poppies mean consolation and death, but what are the others?”

“The false indigo,” you indicate to where you know they are, “symbolize protection. Phacelia, the light purple ones, are for endurance and determination. The eucalyptus symbolize purification.”

“And the peony? I had no idea that you could get a white tattoo,” he says, pointing out the flower that’s emphasized by the blackout behind it. 

“Peonies usually represent good luck, love, honor. But white peonies represent shame, regret. They’re meant to show apology.”

“Hm. Is that because you had tried human transmutation?” 

You freeze at his question. You’ve never told him that, of how days after Basil was shot, you tried to bring him back in an act of desperation. How the thing you saw emerging from the circle wasn’t him, not really. How tiny, metaphysical hands grabbed at you, pulled you into the darkness before throwing you into the blinding light. How you nearly died, bleeding out, until the bar owner in the building came over to complain that you were keeping him up.

He pulls at your gloves, revealing the alchemy tattoos that you don’t need—not that these particular ones don’t help. “You never really needed these, did you?”

“No. Not after Bas. But how—?”

“The Elrics. Roy told me of their background, and it sounded eerily similar to another story I know. Why didn’t you tell me?” 

He doesn’t sound hurt. No. He sounds like he’s concerned for you. How… Maes Hughes of him.

“Shame. Regret. I didn’t want to acknowledge what I had done,” you whisper, bowing your head. He helps bring your coat back up. 

“Does Roy know?”

“No.”

“Is this why you think you’re cursed? I never quite understood what you meant, but I think I get it now. Aerugo’s religion is rather strict about what humans can and cannot do to bodies, with a special emphasis against alchemy, so to perform human transmutation is tantamount to renouncing your God. Am I right?”

“Is this why they put you in the Investigations Office?”

The door opens, Edward leading Alex out of the office with Alex carrying his brother in a box. 

“The Colonel’s ready for you,” Alex informs you.

Edward gives you an odd look before staring at your hands. “What kind of transmutation circle is _that?”_

“Ah, something specific to my research. See you around, kid,” you say, turning to head into the office. 

“Wait!” You glance over your shoulder at him. “Thank you. For earlier, I mean.”

“Don’t sweat it.” Waving them off, you enter into the office. It’s just as you remembered—green and brown, with Jean and Heymans lounging on one couch, Riza on the other, and Vato and Kain awkwardly standing in the room. 

Jean and Heymans both greet you with warm smiles as Roy dismisses them all, save for Maes. As they file out of the room, you seat yourself in the corner of one of the couches with Maes taking the space opposite you. Leaning back, you ignore the building anxiety that threatens to spill out of every pore.

You feel his eyes on you, swallowing every bit of you that they can, something that you know would be mirrored in your own gaze which is why you focus on Maes instead.

“So,” Roy starts, drawing Maes’ attention to the front of the room. “How is it you know our killer?”

“He was the brother of the man I was working with in Ishval.”

“Is it from _you_ that he learned his alchemy?”

Your head snaps to him, allowing the accusation to fill you with momentary frustration. Even from behind his hands, you can see the small uptick of his cheek, the indication of his smirk, the indication of having given him exactly what he wanted. Dammit. 

“No. He’s a warrior monk, dedicated to Ishvala. At least, he was. He hated me because I kept giving his brother information about Amestrian Alchemy, something that Ishvala considers sacrilege.”

“You gave an Ishvalan state secrets during the war?”

“I gave a _scholar_ information that would help the both of us with our research. Might I remind you that I’m a dual citizen, bound by both Aerugo _and_ Amestris and protected by both Aerugo _and_ Amestris. During times of war, I am to remain neutral, which I did.”

It’s no secret that Aerugo helped supply Ishval with weaponry during the war at the beginning of the century, nor is it a secret to anyone in the room that the entire conflict was Amestrian aggression, plain and simple. 

“What was the extent of your relationship with the man known as Scar?”

“Oh, you know, we were the best of pals, loved talking shit about Amestris. What do you think? He was at war and I wasn’t. He hated me for fanning the flames of his brother’s interests.” Kicked your ass a handful of times, too, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Uh-huh,” Roy mutters, grabbing a pen and writing something down on one of the documents in front of him. “When was the last time you saw him?”

You bite your bottom lip as you wrack your brain for the memory, for the date. “It had to of been autumn of 1906? I went to Xing to study Alkahestry, and I kept in contact with his brother until shortly after Order 3066. When I stopped receiving replies, I came back. Until today, I thought he was dead.”

His eyes flicker to yours and Maes bows his head. You’re aware of the guilt they both carry, the truth of their actions in the war. You’re aware of how deep it sits on Roy’s heart, being the ‘Hero of Ishval’ when he killed countless innocents. No one in this room is free of ghosts, free of their past actions that haunt them.

“Anything else you can tell us about him?” he asks, attention back to the paper before him.

“Nothing that you don’t already know. He’s incredibly dangerous, breathtakingly smart, only seems to destroy—never creates. Oh, and you shouldn’t try to fight in the rain, especially against _him._ It would be a shame if he killed you.”

“Would you shut up about that?!”

“Thank God you have Riza watching you,” you reply snidely.

“Are you done?”

You shift your attention to Maes, who’s leaning back with the stupidest ~~fucking~~ smile and you immediately know where his mind is going.

“So, Poppy. How long are you going to be in East City?”

“I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” you grumbled under your breath. 

“I didn’t quite hear that,” he goads. 

“I’m not sure. I was hoping to travel with you back to Central. Spend some extra time with you, Gracia, and Elicia before I leave.”

“Of course! I can fill you in on all of the stories you’ve missed! But just so you know, I’ll be staying here for the week.”

“For the week? Why?” Roy asks, apparently oblivious to Maes’ plan.

“To finish the paperwork on the Shou Tucker case and the assault on the Elric brothers!”

“That shouldn’t take you a week.”

Maes shoots you a look before dramatically checking his watch. “Oh, look at the time! I should call Gracia and Elicia! See you tomorrow!” He waves, already halfway out of the door.

“That man,” you mutter in disbelief. Shaking your head, you push yourself off the couch, prepared to leave. 

“Poppy,” Roy calls, voice a lot closer than it was a moment ago. You turn and see him only two meters away from you now. “I—shit.” He looks away from you, and you swear you can see the barest hint of pink dusting his cheeks.

You shouldn’t, you shouldn’t, you shouldn’t, you shouldn’t, you shouldn’t, you shouldn’t, you should—

“Roy, do you want to grab lunch while I’m in town?”

His smile nearly breaks you and his gaze nearly makes your knees buckle. _Fuck._


	2. Persian Buttercups

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _There is a stirring in my soul, a restless, wild anticipation. I am staring out into the horizon, as far as I can. I can't see what's beyond it, but I can feel it._   
> 
> 
> Lang Leav, "Anticipation" 

### Early Summer 1905

Maes is graduating today and you’re attending the ceremony as his family. Mrs. Hughes died shortly before he left for the academy, and Mr. Hughes followed shortly after. After the ceremony, Maes will have about two weeks, wherein he’ll be able to _finally_ help you go through the estate before deciding what to do with it. 

You don’t want it, save for the remnants of your family’s possessions—old books about Amestrian history, books on bio-alchemy, your brother’s research notes. Books, mostly. Maes is probably ready to give it up, especially considering the likelihood of being sent to Ishval.

Just thinking about the “conflict” makes your blood boil. There is no “conflict,” just the harsh reminder that the state has a monopoly on “legitimate” violence and is free to use it on whomever they deem fit, regardless of the apparent protections granted them by the law. A child was murdered, in broad daylight, by an Amestrian soldier, and people are shocked that it sparked outrage? It makes you sick. 

How many of these men and women are joining because they want to participate and benefit from that violence? How many want the excuse to _be_ violent? How many are going in with a false sense of patriotism, the misunderstood notion that Amestris isn’t an aggressor, that they haven’t instigated nearly every conflict in the last fifty years? 

It bothers you that Maes has joined the military, but he’s certain that he’s doing it to protect you and the future Mrs. Maes Hughes. Ah, well. Not like you can change his mind once it’s made, which is part of the reason why you aren’t telling him about your Ishvalan pen pal. 

It’s more than that, though. You had met him at a library the last time you visited the east, before the fighting spread to the entire area. He had expressed interest in learning more about alchemy, and who better to help him in his studies than someone who’s seen the Truth? You had done some rudimentary research into the religions in Amestria, and you’re acutely aware of how both your mother’s and Ishval’s religions prohibit alchemy because only God should hold the power to create, so it’s intriguing to see an Ishvalan interested.

You had recently learned about an alchemic variant in Xing, something different than what is practiced in Amestris, and have already arranged a trip with a clan willing to teach you in exchange for information about Amestrian Alchemy. While you’re to pass through the east, you’ll be stopping through Ishval to meet with him once more. Technically holding neutrality, technically on the cusp of execution. But if you don’t take risks, then how will you be able to find what you’re looking for?

A soldier calls you forward, pulling you from your reverie. You show him your identification and he waves you through. Joining the other families, you find yourself surprised by the sheer size of the graduating class. 

The entire ceremony is long and arduous, but you’re glad to see that Maes graduated in the top ten. After a speech by the Fuhrer, the ceremony concludes, and you’re among some of the first to leave the stands, ready to meet with the brother you haven’t seen in nearly three years. 

When you find him, he’s talking with another man, someone you recognize as another soldier in the top ten. As you approach, they both turn to you. Maes pulls you into a warm embrace, one you gladly return. 

“Mm, I’ve missed you,” you hum. “Gross, you smell like the military now. How am I supposed to work beside you next week when you smell like this?” 

“Ha, ha. Very funny. Poppy! I want to introduce you to a good friend of mine—Roy Mustang, Poppy. Poppy, Roy Mustang,” he introduces, readjusting you so you’re facing the stranger.

You aren’t even shy about the way you check him out because _oh God_ is he someone you want to check out. A smirk plays on his lips as he watches you with thinly-veiled interest, eyes flickering to various parts of you, trying to be subtle with his attention. He extends a hand and you take it. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Poppy. Hughes has told me a lot about you.”

“The pleasure is mine. He has told me exactly nothing about you, and I’m assuming he hasn’t even told you my real name,” you smile, giving your adoptive brother a playful glare.

“Oh? Would you please correct him and share your name with me?”

You give it freely, and the way it rolls off his tongue is enthralling. 

“Roy here was just telling me about how he doesn’t have any plans for tonight to celebrate,” Maes hedges.

Looking between the two of them, you realize that Maes has something up his sleeve, something he’s not telling you, but you decide to play the gracious host as you already promised Maes a home-cooked meal consisting of his favorites. What’s one more?

“Is that true?” you ask Roy, who looks a little surprised. When he offers affirmation, your smile widens. “Well, we can’t have that, can we? Join us!”

He looks between the two of you before releasing an uneasy chuckle. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Nonsense! You worked hard to graduate in the top ten of your class. It’d be a shame to not celebrate the effort that went into that.”

He relents, letting you lead the two of them to the car. They share some stories with you, such as their first impressions, what they learned—what little they _could_ share—, how they competed with one another endlessly, striving to be better than the other. ~~And you definitely aren’t wondering whether you can still best Maes at hand-to-hand now that he’s had additional training~~. When the subject of _how_ they met comes up, you sock Maes in his arm.

“You _did not!_ Maes Hughes, tell me that you didn’t steal Roy’s quiche!”

Roy laughs in the backseat as you berate Maes, while the latter only offers, “What? You know I can’t resist spinach quiche!”

“I can’t believe you! Is this because I’d always win when you’d try that with me?”

“Wait, what?” Roy laughs in incredulity as you parallel park in front of the Hughes’ residence.

“It was only once or twice,” Maes admits, almost sheepishly. 

“Once or twice my ass. I kicked your ass more times than I could count because you tried to steal my quiche.” As you make your way up the pathway, you spare a glance at your old family home, now occupied with strangers. Unlocking the door, you usher the both of them inside. It’s clean, startlingly so, as it has been since both of Maes’ parents passed. You spend most of your days at the library, researching and writing. It’s about this time of year that you’d need to travel to Rush Valley and Dublith, but with the ceremony and your impending trip, you did both in spring. 

“Wow, Poppy, I had no idea you kept the place so clean,” Maes marvels, making his way through the house. 

“I only returned from Dublith last week. Don’t forget that I’ll need your help going through the estate.”

“Wait—why’d you go to Dublith early?” he asks, popping his head around the entrance to the kitchen. 

“I haven’t had a chance to tell you, but I’m going to Xing for a while for my research.”

“Xing? What’s in Xing?” Roy asks, having carefully hung up his coat. He enters the kitchen from the dining room entrance and starts rolling up his sleeves. 

“They don’t look at Alchemy the same way that we do here, and I want to know why. I want to find a more compatible way to utilize alchemy for healing purposes.”

“Really? Why not become a State Alchemist? Alchemy is supposed to help the people, and it sounds like that’s what you’re doing.”

“So that Fuhrer Bradley can use me as a weapon? No thanks,” you dismiss. 

“A weapon? What do you mean? Bio-alchemists aren’t expected to fight.”

“Ah, she has an automail leg that’s been modified with weaponry,” Maes explains as you leave the kitchen to go change into something more comfortable. Their conversation filters through the empty house, though you aren’t paying attention. 

No. You wouldn’t be made into a weapon. You learned how to fight after what happened to your brother. Dominic helped craft your automail, weaponize it to better protect yourself. 

Settling on a sundress ~~for reasons unknown (ahem)~~ , you make your way back downstairs. Entering the kitchen, you make for the sink to wash your hands. You feel eyes on you, and you turn to see Maes looking at you with the barest hint of mirth and Roy looking at the leg. 

“Eyes up here, Mustang,” you tease, honestly not minding the way his eyes follow you. “So is that why you joined the military? To help the people?” You continue with the prep work for the impending meal, and Roy takes a place beside you, offering an extra pair of hands.

“I want to defend our borders and citizens from the constant barrage of border wars,” he says firmly. “I plan on returning to my teacher and becoming a State Alchemist myself.”

“Oh?” If he notices the particular harshness in your chopping technique at the moment, he doesn’t comment. “What’s your specialty?”

“Flame Alchemy.”

You consider it, the intricacies involved in flame alchemy. “That’s a pretty intensive specialty.”

“I know, but I’m hoping that it will help end the conflicts sooner. I want to be able to climb the ranks of our government to create a system that helps the people.”

“Do those people include the Ishvalans that are our citizens? The same ones that the government is systematically butchering?”

He falters in his movements. “Yes. Ishvalans are Amestrians, too. I’ll protect them just the same.”

You turn to face him, something you don’t quite want to name just yet bubbling in your chest. He looks at you, surprised by your somber expression. “Good. Don’t forget that when you’re sent over there.”

His eyes search yours for a moment. “I won’t.”

❦

After the meal, Maes claims he’s entering a food coma—which isn’t a stretch to believe considering he ate the majority of your spinach quiche—but you have a feeling he’s trying to push you and Roy into spending time together. Roy tries to bid you goodnight, informing you that he intends to walk home. Not even letting him finish his sentence, you grab your coat and keys and push him out of the door.

“No. It’s bad enough that you _helped_ when I was supposed to be treating the two of you, but I will not have you walk home.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say that you’re trying to get me alone,” he coquets with a playful smirk as he opens the passenger side door. 

Opening the driver’s side door, you’re pleased to find his eyes on you. “What makes you think you know better?” you tease, a light smirk of your own playing on your lips. A glance to the side reveals a lovely shade of pink on his cheeks, and your smirk turns into a grin. 

Once the car’s engine is warmed up, you pull away from the sidewalk. As he directs you where to go, the two of you fall into an easy conversation, granting you the opportunity to learn more about him. It’s easy, deceivingly so, to be around him and you’re finding yourself wanting more. You pull up to the nondescript residence, and before he leaves, he turns to you.

“Would it be alright if I were to call upon you before your trip?” 

A small gasp leaves you. While the two of you had been flirting, enjoying the electric chemistry between you, he didn’t particularly strike you as someone who would be interested in the pursuit, especially considering his relationship with Maes. It added an extra level of allure, the prohibition of becoming involved with one of his friends as it would inevitably be expected to _go somewhere_. But something draws you in, something that stokes the steady inferno that came into existence earlier today.

“Yes,” you answer, heat steadily spreading across your face. His answering smile is almost boyish, not what you expect from a soldier. He grabs your hand and presses a small kiss to it, bringing a small smile to your face. “But—”

“But?” he asks, not at all discouraged, not at all interested in letting go of your hand.

“I want to be clear that my focus is on my research, _not_ on any romantic prospects.”

His smile deepens. “Such candor is refreshing, I must say. I understand, though I hope you know I _do_ enjoy a good challenge.” 

You wait for him to be safely inside before taking off, a flurry of butterflies dancing within you.

The following day, Maes wakes you with a small bouquet of persian buttercups, daffodils, and pink hyacinths— _charm, attraction, new beginnings, and feminine beauty._ He’s too distracted by the florist who delivered them, telling you how he has a date with her and will be unable to help you with the house. He’s gone before you can complain.

❦

Throughout the next two weeks, you have to drag Maes—and Gracia—back to the house to help handle the estate while Roy ends up lingering and, reluctantly, helping. Honestly? You _adore_ Gracia. She’s easily the sweetest woman, someone you genuinely approve of for Maes. You bet that if it weren’t for her presence here, he would definitely comment on the frequent disappearances of you and Roy.

You aren’t sure what it is about him, but you can’t seem to stay away, and neither can he. He’s…

_a d d i c t i n g_

Whenever he’s near, if it’s not your hands that find him, it’s his that find you. Soft touches that start out innocent—the elbow, the hands, the shoulders, the knees. Perchance the inevitability of separation? Of your impending trip to Xing, of his return to his teacher? Maybe it’s just that you two are both young and attractive and that this is exciting? Whatever it is, you let yourself fall into it, effortlessly, willingly, decisively.

You’ll be leaving first, and given the length of your excursion, Maes wants to spend the day just the two of you. Not that you mind—you’ve hardly seen him since, well, Gracia and Roy became greater figures in your lives. Unlike Gracia and Maes, you and Roy are much more casual, much more informal with any affections, something that works well for the both of you as neither of you share Maes’ romantic disposition. Still, you’re a little dismayed that you won’t have a chance to see him. Despite this, a bouquet of yellow acacia, irises, and blue violets arrive. 

_Secret affections, hope, and faith._

Hm. 

You leave earlier than you need to the following morning, with your own set of flowers to leave for him. Gardenias, sweet alyssum, white clover, and cyclamen. _Returning secret affections, protection from altercations, remember me, and sincere tenderness._ You’re about to leave them on the front step when the door opens.

“Oh. I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“I wasn’t expecting to be caught here,” you reply, handing him the flowers. He takes them, eyes flickering to each one, deciphering the particular message you’re trying to send. “I wanted to pass these along as thanks for keeping me company the last two weeks.”

He smiles and you know he understands. “Please, allow me accompany you to the train station.”

“Only because you ask so nicely.” 

Chuckling, he steps inside to place the flowers somewhere safe before joining you. The walk starts off quiet, comfortably so, and anticipation builds inside you. You’re eager for what the future holds for you, for finding a solution to the problem your mom had tried to address. 

As you two approach the train station, he speaks. “So, you understand floriography?”

“What? You think the last five bouquets you sent went misunderstood?”

“You’re a lot smarter than you let on,” he comments wryly. 

“Oh? And here I thought I was being transparent with my intelligence,” you respond, coming to a stop. Checking your pocket watch, you see that you still have fifteen minutes. 

“You were. It’s… invigorating,” he tells you, turning so he can face you. “How long will you be away?”

“At least until the war is over, though it’s possible I’ll stay past that depending on what I learn.”

“Hm. I see,” he ponders, looking away for a moment. “Find me when you return.”

You cock an eyebrow at his choice of words. “I’m not a soldier you can command, Roy. Besides, who’s to say that you’ll be here when I return? Or that you’ll still be unmarried?” you ask, challenging him as you step forward. 

He closes the gap and you breathe in the familiar scent of frankincense and sandalwood. The way his eyes appraise you lets you know that he’s fully aware of the effect he has on you, and the hunger behind them communicates to you that it’s reciprocated. You lick your lips briefly and his eyes follow the small movement.

“I’m the one to say. Find me when you return,” he repeats, leaning in slightly. 

“How’s about this: I’ll send you a letter, confirming my presence in Amestris. If you’re unavailable, send me a purple hyacinth,” you murmur. He’s less than an inch from you and you keep your eyes on his, loving the singular attention you're receiving from him. 

“And if I’m not?”

“A pink poppy.” Barely there, barely a breath, but his smirk confirms he heard you.

You don’t know if it was you or him who closed the distance, who started the kiss, but it doesn’t really matter because all you care about in this moment is the feel of him against you, the warmth of him beneath your fingertips as they trail up his chest and rest on his shoulders. It’s hot and demanding and you’re certain that the intention behind it is to ensure you don’t forget. Your tongue swipes at his lower lip before you tease it between your teeth. Giving him a sharp nip, he smiles before pulling away. 

Your train pulls into the station, and you drag your thumb across his face, tracing his jawline and landing on his bottom lip. Smiling, your eyes flicker up to meet his.

“Don’t you forget about me while I’m gone, Mustang.”

Turning on your heel, you board the train heading to the southeast.

### Autumn 1908 - Xing

“Still no mail?” you ask as the merchants are returning to the village. They shake their heads and your master sighs. 

“It appears that it is time for you to go,” she says, drawing your attention to her. When you furrow your brows, she continues. “Take what you have learned and use it to protect your people. When it is done and your conscience is clean, come back to us.”

“But—”

“That is not a request,” she states firmly. “You have a duty to your own country and to that young man you correspond with.” Her eyes beckon one of the merchants and you take that as your cue to leave.

It’s been _months_ since you’ve heard from him, since you’ve exchanged information, and it worries you deeply. You knew things were getting bad in Ishval, but Alkahestry takes years to learn, to master, even _with_ the added benefit of having a greater understanding of Alchemy.

The two of you learned through your dealings with both Amestrian Alchemy and Xingese Alkahestry that something is deeply wrong with the foundations for the former. Both of your combined research has helped develop a transmutation circle that should offer a balance to a matrix designed to draw power inwards. 

Mid-way through packing, one of the merchants you’ve become familiar with enters.

“We’re to take you as close to Ishval as we can, starting tomorrow morning.”

“Why so soon? You all have just arrived.”

“Your fuhrer has enacted Order #3066, calling for State Alchemists to exterminate Ishval.”

No. 

_“Fuck,”_ you breathe. For the first time in months, your mind flickers to Roy Mustang. How many of his own countrymen has he killed? He seemed so dedicated to saving them when you had met him, but then again, you hardly knew him. Has he killed—?

No. You won’t let yourself finish that thought. You need to get to Ishval as soon as possible. 

Once done packing, you go to one of the artists in the clan. They largely find tattoos to be unflattering and, well, abhorrent, but if you’re going to return, you could use all the help you can get. It’ll be nice to see _if_ this new transmutation circle strengthens your alchemy, even if it’s just for yourself at the moment. He agrees if only to hear you tell stories of your alchemy and automail. 

It carries on well through the night, but thanks to alkahestry, you’re able to hasten the healing process, ensuring no complications will arise during your trek into the desert.

❦

When you arrive in Kanda, it’s so much worse than you had imagined, and you imagined a _lot_. It’s not like you can actively fight the military here ~~because fuck only knows you don’t give a fuck about the status of your citizenship right now~~. You’d quickly become overpowered by the sheer number of soldiers here, and you’d be of no use to the Ishvalans dead. 

It takes a lot to convince them of your intent to help, but the doctors—Rockbells?—help convince them to trust you. You create a tunnel of sorts with your alchemy, just over two meters deep, just far enough to get away from the bulk of the fighting so you can take them into the desert. It’ll be a long trek to Xerxes ruins, but you don’t know where else to take them. Aerugo is only interested in knocking Amestris down a peg and Xing can’t offer any assistance.

As the weather gets marginally cooler, it becomes easier to make the journey. You’re able to help get small groups out of the warzone about once a month with the additional assistance of the Rockbells. The fighting is getting worse—there is no longer any illusion of a war, just blanket annihilation, genocide. 

Each time you enter the country, you feel it. It’s worse than he described, the sickening taste of rotten alchemy, the way it almost curls around your existence, seeking to numb you before consuming you and the power you hold. Each time you get closer to Ishval, you feel… presences that fill you with startling unease. They’re malicious and murderous and entirely different from anyone else present—almost so much that they drown out the individual chi that you’ve been trained to detect. 

If it weren’t for your training in Xing, you doubt you would have ever noticed, and you’re immensely grateful for that training now as it helps you elude them, keeps the Ishvalans safe as you work to keep them alive. You only have to dispatch a small handful of Amestrian soldiers—never killing them, but definitely knocking them unconscious and pinning them to buildings or the ground with your alchemy. The tattoos do wonders, almost boosting your talent, pushing that presence from you, keeping you clean.

After you find the Rockbells dead, you know this has to be your last trip. You take their surviving patients and get them out of Ishval as fast as possible. Once you get to the other side of your tunnel, you destroy it, returning the land to its previous shape. It’s getting hotter, but you’re able to continue making makeshift shelters during the day to get everyone moving at night. It takes longer this way, but it’s safer, especially as most of these people are still wounded. You’re able to use Alkahestry for some of the injuries, but others are much worse, and you won’t be able to properly treat them until you’re at the ruins.

### Late-Spring 1909

You make it to East City, where you learn that the extermination is complete to Fuhrer Bradley’s satisfaction. You write two letters—one to Maes and the other to Roy. Maes gets back to you pretty quickly, and you learn that he’ll be arriving back in Central in a week’s time. He makes no mention of Roy, leading you to believe he’s alive, at least, while Roy hasn’t gotten back to you.

Ah, well. It’s probably for the best.

❦

There’s traffic. Lots of it. Enough that you don’t make it to the train station when you want to. Gracia had suggested going together to greet Maes, but you told her that you’d probably be sleeping in and you wouldn’t want to keep her. Too bad that wasn’t your only problem today. 

Walking through the station, you see dozens of military dress. Soldiers gladly clutch their loved ones to them, desperate for affection after the horrors of the war. It’s nearly impossible to find Maes, and you’re about to give up, meet up with him at Gracia’s place, when—

“Poppy?”

That isn’t the voice you were expecting, but relief floods through you all the same. Turning, you see Roy standing there looking absolutely bewildered by your presence.

He’s changed. His chi is melancholy, subtle, especially in comparison to everyone else’s. His eyes are darker, heavy with the weight of his actions. You want to be upset, to hold him accountable for what he’s done, what he had signed up to be a part of, but you can’t. Not when he’s looking at you like that. Not when it’s clear that the ordeal has broken him. 

Without thinking any further, you stride over to him and wrap your arms around him. He doesn’t hug you back, nor do you really expect him to, and you’re not sure whether you’re hugging him because he needs it or because you do.

“I’m sorry—I should have asked whether it would be hyacinths or poppies. Either way, welcome home.”

There’s a dull thud before he wraps his arms around you, crushing you to him with surprising strength. 

You don't see Maes until two days later.


	3. Lily-of-the-Valley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _May you fall asleep in the arms of a dream, so beautiful,_   
>  _you'll wake up crying._   
> 
> 
> Michael Faudet, "Good Night" 

### Summer 1909

You finalize your move to East City two weeks before Roy’s assignment there, and you’d think it a coincidence if you believed in them. The two of you are more romantically involved than before, though neither of you wants to put a name to this. Mostly, what he needs is comfort, someone to listen, someone to be okay with his silence. You give it, gladly, stoking the burning desire to bring about change, the desire to ensure this doesn’t happen again. 

He doesn’t comment when you leave sweet peas, celosias, and blue statices, a notice of your departure, of uncomplicated affections, of trust. He doesn’t comment when you return seven to ten days later each month. He does welcome you with open arms and each morning after your return, you wake to find flowers throughout your apartment. 

Blue salvias on your nightstand— _I think of you._ Gladiolus on your table— _rememberance, persistence._ Pink and blue hydrangeas on the counter— _gratitude, recognition_. Tarragon in front of your window— _lasting interest._

Maes figures out what’s going on when he tries to call either of you, only to find both of you at Roy’s place or yours. He knows better than to pester you about it, which leaves Roy with the brunt of Maes’ enthusiasm and personal campaign for the two of you to marry like he and Gracia will be doing in the spring. He claims that the two of you having an undefined relationship is a waste of time when the two of you are clearly in love. Like the petulant children the two of you are, both of you yell at Maes to mind his own business before avoiding each other for a couple of days.

This happens a small handful of times, something that your adoptive brother finds to be borderline humorous. 

❦

A couple months of this dance pass before you find a small pot of cornflowers and lilacs at his place. Your heart stutters at the message—whether it’s for you or a reminder for him, you aren’t sure. Without thinking about it, without acknowledging what you _do_ feel about him, you perform a little organic alchemy and alkahestry to keep the cornflowers alive and well. Beyond this, neither of you addresses the flowers that adorn his home, though the two of you grow more affectionate.

❦

It’s well into autumn when you meet Riza, Roy’s Adjutant, though she’s more than that. You find yourself fond of her, charmed by her quick wit and subtleties, not to mention the way you both can effortlessly tease Roy for a variety of little things while believing in the mission he’s given himself. Needless to say, you and Riza make fast friends, though you hardly see her with how demanding military work is for them both.

❦

In winter, you meet the rest of his team while going to one of your favorite bars. After receiving news of the murders of some of the Xingese merchants you had worked with, you wanted a drink. You hadn’t expected to run into them that evening, but you had regardless. 

“Poppy!”

With the rum coursing through your bloodstream, that voice puts you on edge in the best possible way. Turning, you see Roy approaching you.

“Hello, stranger,” you hum, slinging your arm around his neck and pulling him close. “Fancy seeing you here.”

His hand finds purchase on your lower back, and, despite his knowing smirk, he doesn’t move to kiss you as you want. “What are you doing here?” he asks, watching as you take another drink from your glass.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you reply. When he doesn’t respond, you sigh. “I received word that some of my companions from Xing were murdered near the border of Amestris.”

Understanding flashes in his eyes and before you can lift your glass to your lips, he swipes it from you and downs the rest of it. 

He coughs at the spice, unused to rum, and you smile, taking your glass back and asking the barkeep to fill it up.

“How can you drink that straight up?”

“It’s Aerugonian. This particular rum is older than either of us,” you say, ignoring his question as the glass is placed in front of you. “120-proof, and reminds me of my mom,” you lament before letting the notes of ginger, raisins, and sultanas filter through the air you breathe before drinking. “Not as aromatic or woody as your go-to.”

He orders his whisky on the rocks before turning at someone calling him by his title. While he pulls away, his hand still lingers, subtly claiming you. You take in the two men nearing—a tall blonde with a lopsided smile, and a redhead with a more serious demeanor. Roy introduces you and you’re pleased to learn their names to be Jean and Heymans. They invite you back to their table, hosting the rest of Roy’s unit, and before you can decline Roy agrees for the both of you.

Jean and Heymans head back to the table with their drinks and you hang back. He hesitates, watching you with curiosity. In an odd moment of vulnerability, he leans in, apologizes for speaking for you, and asks with a gentle “please” if you’ll join them. You give him a faux-recalcitrant pout before agreeing.

It isn’t as bad as you’re anticipating. The group has great chemistry, great give-and-take, and you find yourself really liking them all. Conversation flows freely, lamenting Jean’s lack of success in relationships, amazement at Vato’s keen memory and intellect—everyone balks at the excited historian that comes out of both you and Vato when you realize the shared interest—, and the frustration felt that no one has ever managed to beat Heymans at chess. 

This causes a moderately drunk you to use your alchemy to create a chessboard on the table to test this. He doesn’t expect you to throw the both of you into the endgame so quickly, just as you don’t expect him to force an exchange of queens. You search for a way out, _any_ way out, but there isn’t one. ~~At least, not one that you can see while being this drunk.~~ You shake his hand, putting the table back to how it was, with a promise to beat him one day. He laughs as you curse at him in Aerugonian before he replies in your mother tongue. 

You decide that besides Riza, he’s your favorite.

Shortly after, you announce that it’s best if you get going. Standing, you bid everyone farewell, and you’re surprised that Roy joins you. He wraps his dark coat around you and you relish in his scent as it surrounds you, grounds you.

“You didn’t have to come with me,” you say, voice small.

“No. But I wanted to.”

Warmth unrelated to the alcohol in your system or the coat around your shoulders flows through you. Perhaps instead of drowning in alcohol, you could drown in him. It’s by far the more pleasant of the two, but you’re worried about that, worried about needing him, ~~about loving him.~~

Fear has been steadily building up in your being, your existence, since Xing, since he stopped responding to your letters, since Order #3066. You’re not brave like Maes, and with the deaths of those you care about mounting, you’re more afraid than ever to take the dive, to even acknowledge there’s a dive to take. 

But—your subconscious must know. That’s why you made sure the cornflowers wouldn’t wilt, right? Something so small, so innocent, an old Amestrian folklore. They used to be worn by men in the early stages of love, and it was believed that a fresh and lively flower meant it was returned, while a wilted flower signified unrequited affections. Without thinking about it, you made sure they would live long lives, stay in bloom for quite a while. 

So, why—?

“Are you okay?” he asks, pulling out his key to your apartment when it becomes apparent you’re distracted. “You look to be deep in thought.”

“Ah, yeah. I am. Sorry,” you say a little wistfully. 

“Why? What were you thinking about?” He furrows his brows slightly, holding the door open for you. 

Walking through, you flick on the lights. As your eyes sweep through the main area, they catch on the different flowers he’s given you throughout the months, all carefully kept alive by your alchemy and alkahestry. Would it be so bad—?

“You.” 

“Nothing bad, I hope,” he whispers as he comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. You lean into his touch, pushing aside everything that’s been clouding your mind so you can enjoy this moment, this man.

“No. Nothing bad.” 

He pulls a light moan from you as his lips tease the vulnerable skin of your neck. “Good. I’d hate for you to think badly of me.” You don’t have to see him to know he’s smiling at the shiver that passes through you, that electrifies you. His grip around you loosens until it’s completely gone, pulling at his coat around you. 

You leave for the bedroom, eager to get out of the clothes of the day. You slip out of your boots before entering the attached bathroom. 

When did this all get so… _domestic?_ When did this start to feel natural? Why—why is it so hard for you to accept it?

There’s the muffled sound of Roy entering the bedroom, of him slowly ridding himself of his layers.

When did you get so comfortable with him in your life? Enough to give him a key to your place? Enough for him to give you a key to his?

Regardless, you finish stripping down to your underwear. Looking in the mirror, you find yourself focusing on the tattoos on your hands, on the hint of silver denoting your mechanical limb, symbolizing both your journey as a part of All and a reminder of the devastating loss of your twin. You keep going, if only for him, if only because he would kill you in the afterlife if you did nothing with the life you still have. You laugh to yourself at the truth of that, of the memory of his spirit. 

Feeling slightly better—despite the severe melancholy—you leave the bathroom. Roy turns to look at you, shirt unbuttoned, and the way you two look at one another is reminiscent of the first time you met. His eyes are hungrier, more obvious in the way they devour your form, and it’s enough to pull you closer to him.

He’s close enough to touch, but you let him be the one to close the distance between you two. His left hand cups your face, holds it like he’s holding porcelain, while his right hand trails down your waist and settles on your hip, fingers tracing the lace band of your underwear. You reach your arms up, wrapping them around his neck, opening yourself up to him.

“Lieutenant Colonel Mustang,” you roll the title in your mouth. It doesn’t sound quite right. Not for this man under your touch. “What do you want?”

He smirks at the imprecise nature of your question. “Right now? All I want is you.”

“Well, you have me.”

“Do I, now?” He leans in to kiss you, gentle at first, as his right hand trails further down, past the curve of your ass. He gently pulls at your thigh, and you comply with his request, allowing him to pull it up, to press you closer as he maintains a firm hold under your knee. As the kiss deepens, you moan, your hands starting to wander, push at the shirt still hanging on his shoulders, trace the planes of his chest.

You hope he lets you drown in him because that’s all you want right now, more than anything.

He seems to be thinking the same thing because he gives you everything you need.

❦

Tired and bruised—in the best possible ways—and in a deep oxytocin-induced post-coital haze, you roll onto his chest, placing your head just above his heart. He wraps his arm around you, keeping you there, keeping you close.

It’s then that you notice the red camellias on your nightstand. It’s enough for you to fall, freely. It’s enough for you to start telling him things of your past that you hadn’t before. 

The smell of your mom’s freshly baked bread. The fruitless endeavors of your dad to get you and Basil to stop fighting one another. The way both of you were fascinated by alchemy, the easy way you caught onto the basic concepts, the physics, the chemistry. The letters from your grandparents in Aerugo, begging your mom not to continue with the blasphemy, begging her not to damn her children in the eyes of God. The way that the two of you would sneak into the National Central Library branches with books for advanced alchemy. 

How you were there for your parents’ death, for the freak sandstorm, the figure that stood in the road, the way your dad had swerved to avoid hitting them, inadvertently rolling you off the mountainside because there wasn’t an adequate barrier. How you dragged your brother from the vehicle, and how it was a stroke of luck that someone was nearby, that he was able to take you to the hospital. How he then took on the task of fitting your brother—and later you—with advanced automail. 

And he… listens. Every now and then you check to see if he’s still awake, and when you do, he presses a light kiss to your forehead and tightens his hold on you in reassurance. It’s overwhelming and liberating and marvelous and terrifying. You want to share more, share everything with him, hear more, learn more. For the first time, you find yourself wanting to define the relationship, to become _more_ with him, but before you can give form to that thought, before you can utter the words, you drift off into a dreamless slumber, lulled to a steady sleep by the constant beating of his heart.

### Spring 1910

It’s only gotten worse. The disappearances. The murders. 

The last time you had visited Xerxes, members of the first group you had helped are missing. After searching for a while, you find their bodies. 

Then you received word that the clan that had helped you in Xing had been attacked. Your master survived, but a number of the other adults who you had interacted with regularly were now dead.

You can’t tell Roy—as much as you want to. You can’t burden him with these actions when he has other things to worry about, when he’s still a part of the military, when knowing would needlessly complicate things for him and his ambitions. It gets to be too much and you decide to leave for Rush Valley and Dublith early this year.

Shit. You haven’t been to either since before you left for Xing. Dominic is going to _kill_ you. Greed’s going to want to keep you close—still convinced you’re a possession, a valuable commodity. The both of you know the truth, that you’re not a possession, but that you’ll always return in gratitude, a concept he finds funny. 

When you bring it up to Roy, he’s not too happy, but he understands. He knows you’ve been upset, that something’s been bothering you, even if you won’t talk to him about it, and you appreciate that he doesn’t push, that he trusts you. 

You gift him a lily-of-the-valley plant that has yet to bloom but will within two weeks’ time. A promise. Before you leave, he gives you a letter, an invitation, addressed to the both of you. A small chuckle leaves you and you tell him to respond in the affirmative, that you’ll be in attendance, and you’ll be going as Roy’s date.

❦

Dominic is _pissed_ , but you ease his frustration with promises to go with him into the mines to help extract ore with your alchemy. Lots of it. Since before Basil’s death, you would help Dominic search for rare ores, help maintain the purity of the metals, and help mold them into specific components that he would otherwise struggle with. He tells you about how he’s tried—unsuccessfully—to implement more carbide into other designs, but doing so loses their shape and size. You help him with that, at least for you and Paninya, giving the both of you tungsten carbide blades in your automail. He also utilizes the high-strength low-alloy steel that you’re able to craft, along with carbon fiber and fiberglass, decreasing the likelihood that it will be destroyed in a duel with another alchemist. 

He yells at you, makes you promise to come back _on time_ next year for your maintenance. You also promise to spend more time with him in the mines next year to make up for it.

❦

When you arrive in Dublith, you’re immediately put on edge by the chi that you sense. It’s so putrid and suffocating, and it worries you endlessly when you turn down the familiar street, when you pass by the building that you had once used to attempt human transmutation. 

Is it you? The sin of your past? Has it irrevocably disrupted the flow of energy in this place?

Regardless, you enter into the Devil’s Nest, prepared to fight. Outside of new faces, there’s nothing out of place, not that you can see. It’s not until Greed enters after the big one—Roa—calls him that you realize it’s _him_. You knew he was a homunculus. He told you after bringing you back from the hospital. 

But you had no idea that _this_ is what it would feel like. You had no idea that there were _more_ , something that deeply terrified you because of their violent presence in Ishval. You’re almost afraid of him, except this is still the same man who _had_ saved you when he didn’t need to, when he could have let you bleed out. He’s still the same man who cared for you in his own way, still one of your longest companions at this point. Right?

“Long time, no see, kid!” he greets with open arms. 

“Greed,” you respond, not stepping forward. He sees your hesitation and his grin drops. 

“Where’ve you been?” He comes closer, circles you like he’s evaluating you. He casually drapes his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “It’s not like you to go AWOL.”

“Oh, honey, for me to go AWOL, I would have to _have_ official duty to begin with,” you tease, trusting that he means you no harm, that he’s still the same person you knew. “I was in Xing for my research.”

“Really?” he laughs, excited at the prospect of new information. “And?”

“And it’s really different, how they look at alchemy, I mean. Where Amestris focuses on tectonic shifts to draw energy from, they focus on the natural flow of energy from everything. It’s helping me with bio-alchemy, though I wouldn’t even call it alchemy.”

“Huh. Fancy that. Anything useful in terms of immortality?”

“Greed. I’ve already told you. I’m not—”

“‘—not going to help you with that fruitless endeavor.’ Geesh, kid, get a new line already.”

“If anything, what I’ve learned over there tells me that immortality is a fallacy. It’s not real, not in the tangible sense. _You_ , Mr. Homunculus, are as close to immortal as one can get.”

“Aw, I doubt that. There has to be something, and there’s no way in hell I’ll go to the Old Man to find out,” he grumps.

“Whatever the fuck _that_ means,” you say. “Anyway, who are these guys?”

He introduces you to the chimeras, soldiers abused by the military once they were injured during Ishval. It’s incredible—you’ve never met a human chimera, and the way they blend with their animal counterpart is truly fascinating. You try to be mindful of the trauma they still have from the experiments they’ve been forced through, but it takes some serious effort as the scientist in you is screaming with excitement.

Greed ~~demands~~ asks—after you throw a push knife at him—if you’ll make food while you’re visiting, and you agree, if only for the newcomers ~~and not because you find it deeply satisfying when Greed thoroughly enjoys your cooking with his obnoxiously high standards~~. But—

“I only want the freshest ingredients. None of the shit here in Dublith,” he states firmly, delicately dancing on the line between demanding and requesting. 

“Motherfucker,” you say in annoyance. “Do you know how far I’m going to have to go for ingredients then?!”

“Better get to it, then,” he says with a wicked smile.

You throw another push knife at him in frustration before leaving for South City.

❦

Things in South City are… tense. There’s a large Aerugonian presence here because of the proximity to the border and given the not-so-secret role of the Aerugo in the Ishvalan war, it doesn’t surprise you that Amestris is increasing military presence down here. It puts you at ill-ease to see the increased number of soldiers patrolling the streets, the hatred in their eyes. 

When you get close to the market, you see a soldier harassing an older couple for speaking Aerugonian. When he realizes that he’s being watched, he stops, but not before shooting you a glare and intentionally running into your shoulder. Once he’s out of sight, you approach the couple and ask them if they’re okay in your mother tongue. 

Their eyes widen and gratitude sweeps over their expressions before they reassure you that they’re used to it at this point and they’re really struggling to learn Amestrian since they’re from south Aerugo. You shop alongside them, telling them of the dishes you have planned for your friends—Trofie al Pesto, Carciofi alla Giudia, Caponata, Parmigiana, and Neapolitan Margherita. Dishes from your mother’s cookbook, from her homeland. They’re excited by someone maintaining their Aerugonian heritage in this ~~cursed~~ nation. When you remove your gloves to handle the produce, the woman gasps.

She looks fearful of you and starts to back away. Her husband’s eyes snap to your hands, to the tattoos, and he steps forward, grabbing the neck of your top and shaking you. He yells at you, calls you a blasphemer, a traitor, a deceiver. Tells you that by abandoning your God, you’ve cursed those you love and who love you to painful deaths, that you’ve probably damned them.

Sure enough, two soldiers come running forward, seeing the man’s grip on you, and they forcefully remove him from you before throwing him to the ground. He tries to use his hands to break the fall, but they slip and are sliced open by a chipped brick in the road. You kneel, wanting to help, wanting to prove ~~to yourself~~ that they’re wrong, that you _can_ do some good, and as you raise your hands, ready to perform basic alkahestry, you’re thrown back by something hitting your face.

Pain courses through your cheek, and when you press your hand to the skin, it stings. Pulling your hand back, you’re surprised to see blood. Looking up, you see the woman is breathing heavily with her purse in hand, grip tight. Hatred seeps from her being as she glares at you, even as one of the soldiers aims his gun at her.

❦

You return to Dublith in the evening with the food. You’re not really in the mood to cook, but you need to throw yourself into something. Greed comes into the kitchen and stops at the state of your face.

“What happened?” His voice is laced with anger and the smallest amount of concern.

“I—I don’t want to talk about it,” you mutter.

You can feel the frustration coming off of him as you avoid answering his question, as you avoid making eye contact. 

“You could have at least healed yourself. I know that you can,” he bites, leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

You give a noncommittal grunt, knowing he’s right, but you feel… empty. Hollow. He stays in the kitchen with you, watching you the entire time you work. After a while of his silence, you speak up.

“You keep looking at me like that, I’m going to think you care about me.”

“Don’t make me laugh. I don’t like it when my things get damaged.”

“Mhm. Keep telling yourself that,” you mutter as you put the food in the oven. Turning to Greed, you consider him, the history of you two. “Greed? Why’d you save me? You could’ve just as easily let me die.”

He snickers before stepping forward. “Are you kidding? Do you know what I saw that night?”

“Besides a fuck ton of blood and a screaming kid?”

“I saw a kid who managed to open the Portal and come out of the other side. That’s something I don’t think I’ll ever be able to see. You saw the Truth and know more about alchemy than most people, all because you wanted to bring back your brother. Mighty impressive, if you ask me. Shame you were a kid then, but look at ya now!”

You roll your eyes in response.

“So. You gonna tell me what happened? Or am I going to have to keep you here till you talk?”

Bastard. He would. He likes to pretend he doesn’t care, but it’s painfully obvious to you that he does, that beyond what you could give him, he saw a kid who needed help. If he truly didn’t care about you, he’d keep you here, prohibit you from leaving. But he knows you’re not a possession, knows that you’re a friend, knows that you consider him to be the closest thing to family outside of Maes and Dominic. The asshole.

So you tell him about the old couple who were being harassed—he didn’t understand why you stopped to check on them. About how they related to the stories of your childhood, of your mother, of the attempts she made to keep her roots. How they saw the transmutation circles on the back of your hands and told you that you turned your back on God and now everyone around you would die.

He scoffs, tells you that it was a stupid reason for them to have attacked you, but he stays with you in the kitchen, telling you about the stupid shit—your words—he’s gotten up to while you were away, trying to distract you. It works. Kinda.

❦

When you return to East City, you don’t bother going to your apartment. When Roy sees you, sees the purplish-green swelling of your cheek, he’s upset. Even more upset that you won’t tell him about what happened. He finds out when he looks into incident reports in the south. You don’t tell him about Basil, but you do explain their religious beliefs, how in Aerugo the church has a large presence that pervades most aspects of society, even for people who are less involved, like your mom. How they believe that tampering with alchemy, tampering with the realm of God’s power leads only to damnation, not just for the alchemist, but for their loved ones, too.

He tries to reassure you that there’s nothing to be afraid of, that as alchemists, you two have a better understanding of science and the modus operandi of the universe, but he can still see that it’s bothering you on a level that you can’t describe.

Six weeks later, the two of you attend Maes and Gracia’s wedding. It’s absolutely beautiful, overflowing with flowers and plants—at both yours and Maes’ insistence—that symbolizes purity, love, luck in life, and new beginnings. It’s enough of a reprieve that you feel like your old self again during the reception, surrounded by your family. It’s small, with Gracia and her immediate family, and you and several military personnel that Maes has grown close with. 

You find yourself positively enamored by Alex Louis Armstrong’s zeal, and the two of you end up comparing alchemy for a moment—he, creating a surprisingly lifelike statue of himself, and you creating a topiary portraiture of Maes and Gracia, down to little blossoms matching the colors of their wedding attire. More than that, you find a kindred spirit within him, knowing how to use combative alchemy, creative alchemy, but preferring not to. When it comes up that he left Ishval, you immediately reassure him that his conscience was greater than the need to follow orders, something that cannot be understated or underappreciated, that if no one else will be on his side for that, you will.

When it comes time for dancing, Maes and Gracia are so overwhelmingly in love with one another that it takes a couple of songs before anyone dares join them, dares to look away from something so pure. Roy dances with you until your foot hurts from being upright in your heels all day. It’s sweet and tender and you wish that the night wouldn’t end. 

But, as everything else in life, it does.


	4. Astilbe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Fear isn't a reason when it comes to love—it's an excuse. Anyone who has ever been in love will tell you that. When it happens, you don't think about the consequences. You'd turn your life upside down to be with that person. You'd do anything for them._
> 
> Lang Leav, "Anything for Love" 

### Summer 1910

Despite being assigned to recruit State Alchemists following the mass exodus, Roy’s been spending the last week or so following a faction of the Anti-Establishment Movement that’s been targeting Eastern Command. Meaning you’re pretty much alone to catch up on research at the library. Not that the library has much to offer on bio-alchemy. Or anything on alkahestry. At least, nothing you’ll be able to have access to without military clearance—things were _much_ easier when you had Basil and a tiny body 

You’re about to go back to the apartment, plan a trip to Central so you can guilt Maes into getting you restricted texts when you feel the incoming chi and the distant rumbling. Curiosity gets the better of you, and as you turn the corner to investigate, blistering heat barrels through the street, followed by Roy’s flames.

Well. You weren’t exactly expecting _that_ , you think to yourself as your right glove catches on fire. After healing yourself just enough that it doesn’t _hurt_ anymore, you create a pillar to lift you onto the nearest roof to survey what the _fuck_ is happening. 

Anti-Establishment militants are running through the streets of East City while Eastern Command forces—including Roy and his team—are trying to get them into a central location. There’s a couple of alchemists with them, giving Eastern Command a massive headache. You contemplate helping them—there are a few snipers on the rooftops, but they should really have someone with more… versatility up here—but decide better of it.

If you act now, you’ll be caught interfering with official military business, best case. Worst case, they try to recruit you as a State Alchemist, and after everything you’ve learned about the chimeras, you have no misgivings about the corruption of the government and the scientific research it conducts. You wouldn’t trust them until Roy’s in charge, until he’s dismantled and brought to light each vile action taken by the previous regimes.

Despite deciding on passivity, you don’t leave the rooftop. The sun warms your bones as the scene unfurls before you, as pillars of flame erupt every now and then, indicating the attention of your pyro. 

Things have only gotten worse, really, when it comes to border skirmishes. It’s not just here in the east or down in the south, but tensions in the west have only increased. Drachma’s threat remains constant, though it’s a non-issue, from what Roy tells you, with General Armstrong stationed in the north. You can’t blame the other nations for taking issue with Amestris, not when Amestris has historically been the aggressors. 

A distant collision draws your attention to the south, where a wave of water from the river douses the street and buildings. The distinct lack of fire tells you everything you need to know, and you instantly worry about the excessive shooting. Something nags you, pushing you back down to the street, toward Roy’s chi.

Which is worrisome in itself as it’s starting to get weaker.

Breaking out into a sprint, you maneuver your way through the chaos, the massive cloud of dust and steam, towards the familiar presence.

Blood. There’s so much blood. Bodies litter the street, both military and Anti-Establishment. Destroyed vehicles and buildings litter this stretch of street, with a particular presence pulling you behind a large chunk of destroyed parapet. As you approach, you see the familiar blonde of Riza.

She’s working over Roy, who’s currently bleeding out from a gunshot wound to the leg, and judging from the amount of blood and his distinct pallor, he’s been hit in the femoral artery. She looks up at you, confused, before you kneel beside them, using your alchemy to carve out a Purification Circle. 

This—this is too big, even for the best of Alkahestry, but you have to try. 

She’s shouting at you, but you can’t make out what she’s saying. It doesn’t matter. He’s dying and you have to _do **something**!_ Perhaps

There is nothing equivalent to the human soul, except, perhaps, another soul, another life. Human transmutation with the goal to bring someone back, to bring back a soul, is impossible. Everything else is here, everything needed to keep him here, alive, but even still, human transmutation at _this_ scale… What if—could a different exchange be made?

Immediately, you know what to do, how to try, and you pour yourself into it.

_Take it, take it!_   
_Days, Weeks, Years—_   
_Fuck, just take the whole damn thing!_   
_Let him live! Let him fulfill his dream, dammit!_

_My, my, isn’t this interesting? Very well._

A deep crimson fills the air, and you’re afraid—afraid of the Truth, the voice you just heard, but more afraid for Roy, for his life. If you’re still here, there are only two possible solutions: he didn’t make it, or he did and you lost time. But his chi is growing stronger, and you know it has to be the latter.

Riza stiffens beside you and her gun is drawn at someone behind you, but all you can concentrate on is the way his eyes open and focus on you. She fires, once, twice, thrice, and turns her gaze momentarily back to Roy. 

“How—?” 

“Does it matter?” you answer her, such a strong wave of relief drowning you, pushing the tears that you were holding back. You don’t want them to know. The exchange can never be circumvented, and they don’t need to know that you traded years of your life to make sure he still lives.

❦

“You won’t tell us?” Roy asks, safe and secluded in a hospital room. Riza is standing near the door, having received the O.K. to enter just before you did. You’re only allowed in here because he specifically requested you, and right now, you’re not sure whether he requested you as Lieutenant Colonel Mustang or as Roy. 

Having saved him like that—you’d hate to think what the government would do if they found out. Would they force you to do it again? Force others to? It was only possible because you committed the ultimate sin, and while you were glad that Roy’s alive, you’re contending with the possibility that it was _that_ sin that nearly took him from you in the first place. What if your countrymen were right? Having met God, you wouldn’t really put it past Them to do something like this.

Try to play God, try to bring someone back to life, a loved one? Lose loved ones. The toll to see the Gate was paid with your leg but was there a toll for your _actual_ sin? Is this it?

A frustrated exhale escapes him at your continued silence. “The last time I saw red alchemy was in Ishval, but they weren’t _saving_ people. What did you do?” His question has a bite to it, something altogether unfamiliar to you. This must be how he speaks to those he’s not intimate with.

You flinch at the memory, at the experiences you still have yet to share. It isn’t clear to you why yours was red in that moment, not really. Yours is usually blue, as is most alchemy. When you attempted human transmutation, it was a deep aubergine, and, as he said, you’ve seen red in Ishval. And… when Greed has healed himself. 

Knowing he was a homunculus, you had asked _how_ his life had been created. At the time, his answer was to ‘ask again later.’ Perhaps now is a good time to ask again.

“Was it what you learned in Xing?” he tries again, much softer.

“I—yes.” In part. 

“So your research? It’s successful? Why didn’t you tell us sooner?”

Because your research had nothing to do with what happened, not really. “Because it’s _not_ done.” True, but not quite relevant to the question at hand.

The sigh that leaves him this time is softer, encouraging you to meet his eyes. His frown is slight, eyes prodding, but he sees your anxiety, your discomfort, and he beckons you to sit in the empty seat beside the bed.

“I should thank you.” 

“How could I not? I—I can’t just sit back and let someone else I lo—”

_Why?_  
_Why can’t you just **say** it?_

_You’ve essentially said it in a thousand different ways_  
_and he nearly died only hours ago_  
_so why_

_why_  
_can’t you say it_  
_?_

Your heart must be in your throat by now, making it impossible to breathe, making it impossible to feel anything but the heavy beating as blood rushes to your face. Roy looks as stunned as you feel at your basic admission, and his expression softens once it all sinks in. His hand reaches for yours, not pressing any further.

“You can’t die on me. Not yet,” you mutter.

“Not yet?” 

“No. You have to get to the highest office in the land and fix everything that’s wrong with our country.”

His chuckle warms you, even if only for a moment. “Okay.”

“Promise me,” you urge.

“I promise. You can’t get rid of me that easy,” he teases lightly.

And you want to believe it, you do. But knowing that he’ll be okay may be enough. If you still have to pay for your sin, then you don’t want him to be caught in the crossfire. You need him to be okay.

Maybe if you find a way to do more good, to save more people, you can pay the toll that way. Perhaps if you give yourself in other ways, people around you, people you love will stop dying.

### Autumn 1910

You’re selfish. Too selfish. You’re putting him at risk by staying, but when he asks you to stay, you can’t refuse. You should. You should leave. You know this. You could go back to Xing, finish your training. Find ways to use Alkahestry to save lives where Alchemy seems to take them, at least, how it’s applied here in Amestris. Find ways to bring more than just temporary happiness to those around you, to actually benefit more people than just those you know.

There’s nothing more that you can learn in East City. Staying here is just an excuse to stay near people put at risk by your proximity and affections. There are other cities you could stay in to be closer to Xerxes’, to deliver supplies and care for the refugees. Jean mentioned in passing that surviving Ishvalans may be able to re-enter Amestris in ghettos, but it still puts them at risk under the continued provision of the lesser-known portion of Order #3066. 

Roy’s asked you a couple of times whether you’d consider becoming a State Alchemist, sharing what you know with the promise that he would keep the full extent of your alchemic abilities from the government, focusing only on bio-alchemy. Memories of the chimeras, their origins, the desperate ways they had to escape serve as constant reminders of what bio-alchemists are expected to do for the government. 

When you met with Greed again, he told you that it was a philosopher’s stone. You didn’t need to ask him _how_ because just knowing the properties _of_ a philosopher’s stone is enough. The exchange can never be bypassed, and for such massive power, you could only imagine the cost paid. Surely that would also fall into the realm of bio-alchemy, especially if you were able to save Roy in exchange for a number of your years—an indeterminate number to begin with. You could only imagine what they would do with that kind of information, that kind of power considering their proclivity to violence.

He comes home after having been gone for a couple of days, Riza in tow. The unusual thing is that they’re both in uniform, and they’re both looking at you like you’re in trouble.

“What’s going on, guys?” 

“I’m officially asking if you’ll take the exam.”

Ah. So that’s what _this_ is. Riza must be here in an official capacity, as an official witness.

“Why?” you ask, feeling defensive, ambushed almost. 

If you didn’t know him as well as you do, you’d miss the shock that flashes through his eyes, unused to being the target of any of your hostility.

“There’s come a request from Central. Word’s gotten out about what you did in July.”

Word—word’s gotten _out?_ “No, word didn’t ‘get out,’ one of you included it in your report. What makes you think that anything’s changed from the countless other times I’ve told you ‘no’?”

“Should you pass the exam, there would be a sizable stipend in addition to the standard research grants to further pursue bio-alchemy. You’ll receive access to all restricted research materials you would need to complete your research.”

“Roy—”

“You could do a lot of good. You could save a lot of lives.”

“I will _not_ be a pawn of the military,” you articulate, careful, measured, feeling several different kinds of insulted. “I want not a dime from the government for my work. I do not trust the government with my work. This country has _nothing_ it can offer me in terms of my research.”

Hurt flickers across his face, at the implication that you’ll be leaving because your dedication is to your work. “Do you think I don’t know that? Do you think I don’t know that you don’t care about money? Or that you don’t want to be involved in the military? You could still do good. Those _boys_ —”

He catches himself and your eyes flicker to Riza for the first time since this started. She looks taken aback, not expecting the mention of whoever the _boys_ are.

 _“Boys?”_ you challenge, taking a step forward. “What do you mean?”

“I—shit.” His hand runs down his face as he tries to collect his thoughts. “There were two kids. I thought it would be an adult. I had heard there was a powerful alchemist in Resembool, but it was a kid.”

“Mustang. What. Did. You. Do?” 

“I merely offered them the possibility to have access to the resources to get their bodies back.”

You open and close your mouth, not unlike a fish in that moment, digesting what he said. Did they— “Those kids. What do you mean ‘get their bodies back?’”

“I shouldn’t be telling you this, but they performed human transmutation.”

And he—  
He thought it would be a good idea to place them in military custody? Does he even realize—?

Of course, he doesn’t.

How many others have committed the ultimate sin? How many others would be able to tell him how doing so puts you face to face with God, with the Truth? That doing so opens the Gate, reveals an incomprehensible amount of alchemical knowledge all for the taking? 

And he recruited a _child?!_

“With the work you’ve done and continue to do, you could help them a great deal.”

“And you. You think that what you’ve done has offered them help?” Your voice lacks the previous bite, anger, but it stings nonetheless. “Riza. You thought this was a good idea? Or were you just following orders? No. You know what? Don’t—don’t answer that.”

Inside your body is a maelstrom of emotions—disbelief, agony, ire, resentment, _hurt_. Perhaps if you had told him sooner, he wouldn’t have involved _children_ , but you can’t think about that now. You can’t even think.

You spare them a scathing look before leaving, blood rushing through your chest in a way you’ve only ever associated with heartbreak.

❦

The air is crisp, without warmth as you finalize plans to return to Dublith. You haven’t spoken with Roy in a week, since you walked out. He tried reaching out after the first night, but once you expressed needing space, he gave it to you.

Maybe this whole thing is the push you need to release him, to move on and keep him safe with your absence. But to have come to this? To children joining the military, to being forced to participate in the next series of Amestrian aggression?

Regardless, it’s time to go. 

Standing before his door, you hesitate to use your key. Before you can decide, the door opens and he looks surprised to see you.

“Poppy,” he says with subtle bewilderment. Glancing down to the flowers in your hands, his expression falls. “Come on in.”

It takes everything you have not to cry, but you make it through the conversation. You feel yourself break when you hand him the scillas, veronicas, and forget-me-nots. He knows without you needing to say it. He pulls out your journal, your research, from his jacket pocket and hands it to you.

The tears are hot and present, blurring your vision as you nod, as you stand to leave. 

This is for the best.

Right?

Before you leave, he pulls at your wrist, turning you around to kiss you goodbye, as though this is just another trip you’re taking. As though you’ll be returning. 

When you get to the train station with your bags, you check to make sure you have all of your journals. The one he handed you, your most recent one, still smells like him. And… something floral?

Flipping through the pages, you find a single pressed flower.

Astilbe.

This time, when the tears start to build up, you let them fall.

### Early Summer 1914

Why did you do it?

Why did you come back?

Wouldn’t it have been better to have left him alone? It was bad enough that you had left him with those flowers the last time you had seen him.

_Constancy. Goodbye. Don’t forget me._

And now you were stupid enough to cave at the first sight of him. But you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want it.

Maes is, of course, being an ass about the whole thing. And by “ass,” you mean overly eager and supportive of you acting with your heart rather than your head. 

“Fear is an excuse when it comes to love. It wastes time that we don’t have, Poppy.”

“We can’t all be lucky and have found the perfect spouse after a chance encounter, Maes.”

“I know! Isn’t she wonderful?!” he starts to gush before remembering he was lecturing you. “He asks about you, you know.”

“That’s his prerogative,” you excuse, ignoring the strong ass impulse to follow up.

He chuckles in response. “Agh. You two. I always wondered what had happened. It made some sense for you to have panicked like that when he recruited Edward Elric, but now, understanding why you feel you’re cursed and why you avoid spending time with anyone for too long… Well, I—”

“You what?”

“I think it’s nonsense. I know you don’t believe in coincidence, but I doubt that it’s because of you or your use of alchemy. We’re all going to die anyway, so why not spend that time with the people you love and who love you in return?”

“And if I were to say that it’s because I don’t want to take you prematurely from your family?”

“Pop. _You’re_ my family, too.”

“Ugh, I’ve _got_ to get you to stop using that name.”

He pulls out his wallet, with pictures of Gracia and Elicia, and pulls out one of you. Well. One of you, Maes, and Basil. You and your brother were four at the time, Maes six. All of you have goofy-ass smiles on your faces as the sun lights up the poppy field behind you. 

“I didn’t know you still had that,” you mutter as your fingers trace the familiar faces.

“Of course I do.” He sighs, letting you hold onto the old memory for a little bit longer. When you hand it to him, he gives it a quick once over as though he hasn’t done so a thousand times before. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Hang in there until I find a way out?” you suggest with a humorless smile.

He calls you by your name, by your _actual_ name, and you understand the full weight of his concern. “I know you’re doing your best, that you’re doing everything you can to keep moving forward, but you don’t have to do it alone. It’s a hard enough path you’re walking without isolating yourself. We all worry about you, and it doesn’t help when you won’t tell us _why._ You could have just told me. You have my support regardless of what you did.”

“Perhaps… Perhaps you’re right, Maes,” you mumble, leaning into his shoulder. “But if you get hurt—”

“Then I get hurt. You’ll just have to recognize that it’s not your fault.”

❦

The air is thick and muggy following the summer storms that passed through the valley, sticking to your face and clothes as you make your way through the city. It’s been four years since you lived here, but you still stop and visit with Riza or Jean or Heymans or, well, anyone from Roy’s team except the man heading it. 

Approaching the restaurant, nervous as all hell, you take notice of the populated interior. After making sure that Roy’s not already here, you grab a table outside on the patio. You take off your coat and hang it on the back of your chair as a waitress brings water.

While waiting, you ponder what odd jobs you should take while in Central City. In big cities like that, it’s hard to work as a medic in any capacity, as you have an almost nomad-like existence, moving from place to place with seemingly little to no forethought. It’s much easier in smaller towns and villages that litter the space between the cities, but you plan to be in Xing by the end of the year. 

Beyond the ~~inherent~~ debatable risk of a prolonged stay with your brother and his family, staying in Central always puts you on edge. The foul nature of the country is amplified, and you’re vaguely aware of the potential presence of homunculi, but you typically leave before it overwhelms you. Sometimes you’ll catch that feeling in South City or East City when you visit either, but it’s mostly in Central, and it puts you on edge. But… you don’t plan on coming back from Xing, not for a while, anyway, and you don’t want to leave without spending time with your family first. 

“Is this seat taken?”

Looking up, you take him in.

He’s matured, though that’s to be expected. His eyes are a little harder, less hopeful, but they still regard you with staggering tenderness—any kind of tenderness is staggering, honestly. He carries himself with more tenacity, more determination, if that’s even possible, and he’s well aware of the charm he carries, something that he’s probably put to good use since you’ve last seen him. ~~And, boy, if only you could wipe that borderline-cocky smile off his face.~~

“Please,” you gesture to the empty chair across from you. 

“It’s been a while. What brings you back to East City? Another visit with one of my subordinates?”

You choke on the water you were in the middle of drinking and a small smile appears on his lips. 

“You mean my friends?” The question is meant to distract from your avoidance to the first, from your reluctance to admit that you were worried about him the second you heard Maes mention a serial killer targeting State Alchemists. 

“I was a friend once, too.”

“No. You were never just a friend, Roy.” Always something more. 

He hides his mouth behind his interlocked fingers, considering the truth behind your words. The two of you were partners, companions, lovers, but there was never a point in the time you two had known each other that there wasn’t something _more_.

“We could try,” he proposes, careful, measured.

After all this time? He would want to? Your lips part as you consider this—the possibility of having him in your life, even just a little bit, of giving into the burning desire to see even just a little of him. He calls your name and it sounds like coming home after a long voyage. It’s dangerous to be around him, even a little bit.

“I—why?”

Humming in response, he takes a moment before answering. “It’s better than the alternative.”

He can’t possibly be implying—?

“I-I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“Tell me about what you’ve been doing. I’m sure it’s been rife with excitement, an interesting woman like you.”

He draws a cheeky smile from you before you grant him this small request, remembering Maes’ words from the night before. Maybe...

❦

“Auntie, auntie, auntie!” 

You prepare yourself for the incoming toddler, a giant smile effortlessly forming on your lips. Elicia comes hurtling around the corner, and you lift her into the air with ease once she gets close enough. Cradling her to your chest, you pepper her face with kisses, relishing in her giggles.

“So, Poppy, how long will you be staying this time?” Gracia asks and you can hear her smile. 

“I want to stay for my _sweetest niece’s_ birthday!” you tell her, blowing raspberries into Elicia’s cheeks. “Only if that’s okay with you guys. I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Auntie Poppy is gonna stay, right daddy?” Elicia twists in your arms to look at Maes, and you turn to make it easier on her.

“Do you want Auntie Poppy to stay?” he asks her with that fucking voice he reserves just for her.

Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad. Maybe you’ll try this, staying somewhere for longer than four weeks, savoring the company of those you love and who love you in return. Maybe you can stop running, stop hiding. Maybe you can start doing what you can to be with them while doing everything in your power to protect them. 

maybe

maybe

maybe


	5. Red Poppy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The mountain was taller than I could've fathomed_   
>  _I hardly believe it from here at the bottom_   
>  _I can't imagine why you'd want to be at the top_   
>  _Oh my god, what will I do if you ever stop_
> 
> _Without you I am surely the last of our kind_   
>  _Without you I am surely the last of my kind_   
> 
> 
> Lucy Dacus, "[...Familiar Place](https://open.spotify.com/track/0lp0bQqzyLmNNHHFYRaaJf?si=D67NrJonQ5i1pLktfb83wg)" 

A breeze dances through the streets, rippling through the trees, ruffling through your dress. It carries the scent of petrol, fresh bread, and mandarins, but mostly, it carries change. 

You aren’t sure how to describe it, but the spirit that flows through Central City is changing, subtly, and you aren’t sure whether it’s good or bad. At first, you thought it was the potential change in _you_ , in possibly spending more time here with Maes, Gracia, and Elicia, but by your second week here, it became more obvious that it was larger than that, as though you were a pebble at the bottom of a river, rushing towards the center of it all, the center of this nation. 

It’s a putrid, polluted, _poisoned_ as it whirls, surges, cascades around the individual energies of all living beings here. It’s near-constant how it draws your attention, always making sure you’re at least a little aware of it. 

Even now, as you’re making your way to the flower shop, under the scent of fresh citrus and summer herbs, it sits on your tongue, heavy, syrupy, _numbing_. 

There’s a sharp _chime!_ from the bell above the door as you enter the shop, and the short woman turns to greet you. “Ah, good, you’re here. I have some deliveries for you to make today, then Mrs. Armstrong has requested that you make an appearance tomorrow to, and I quote, ‘do what you do best.’ I’m not sure what you do, dear, but you have a way with plants.” 

You smile warmly, taking pride in your organic alchemy. It’s not much, but it simplifies months—sometimes even years—of work and growth while promoting vibrant coloration and healthy growth. Ever since Maes’ wedding, you’ve visited the Armstrong estate at least once a year to help with their gardens. It was a massive honor, given that you _aren’t_ an Armstrong and are still praised for your skill nonetheless. It always proved to be a lucrative job, despite your earlier attempts to avoid taking money, and you enjoyed the eccentric family. 

They even helped set you up with this flower shop, where you could do deliveries—mostly for apologetic men, new courtships, and brothels—or create arrangements unique to you. It wasn’t helping anyone, not like you would elsewhere, but it did bring smiles to people’s faces and you did enjoy working with plants.

“Sure thing,” you nod, stepping into the backroom to put on your apron and gloves before taking the cart of flowers to the front. She hands you a list of clients and you make your way through the city. It’s of no surprise to you that you have two bouquets for the Hughes’ residence—one for Gracia, and a smaller one for Elicia. Instead of going to the apartment, you head to the park, where you’re certain to find your sister-in-law and your niece, along with her friends. 

As you near the park, you feel it—the putrescent chi, something you’ve come to associate with homunculi. But why—?

Your eyes survey the city as you get closer to Gracia and Elicia, and you hear a gentle hollow clanking at the same time that you feel the familiar unruly energy of Edward Elric and the exuberance of Alex Louise Armstrong. 

“Oh, ho! Elrics! Just a moment, please!” Alex calls out as he meets your eyes. “Dear Miss Poppy! How wonderful to see you! I see you’re in the city this month?”

You… aren’t even going to bother correcting him. ~~Damn you, Maes.~~ “Hello, Alex. It’s good to see you, too. Yes, I’m staying for Elicia’s birthday, perhaps longer this time.”

“I’m certain the Lieutenant Colonel will be overjoyed to hear that! Shall I expect to see you at the estate, then?”

“Your mother’s already requested I stop by tomorrow,” you smile. Your eyes flicker to the boys, who are both eyeing you with curiosity. Well… It’s not like you introduced yourself properly last time. “But enough about that. Where are you guys headed?” 

“The First Library,” Alex announces. 

Ah. Basil’s favorite one to sneak into when you were younger. The same one that burned down two days ago.

“You guys didn’t hear? Or are you going to investigate?”

“Investigate? Investigate what?” Edward asks you, panic rising behind his eyes.

“The… fire? It was massive, just two days ago.”

“WHAT?! No! All of Dr. Marcoh’s research!” Edward shouts, disbelief coating his words.

“Dr. Marcoh? Wasn’t he the Crystal Alchemist?” Why would these three be looking into his research? 

“Yeah. Did you know him?” the suit of armor asks, Alphonse Elric if you remember correctly…

“I was familiar with his topic of research as a fellow bio-alchemist, but I thought he was killed in action during the Ishvalan War?” 

Both Alex and Edward visibly shut up and you realize that you’ve meandered into classified military intel territory. 

“Wait, so you’re a bio-alchemist? Do you know anything about the philosopher’s stones?”

They can’t be—

“Auntie, auntie, auntie!” 

You turn your head in the direction of the sprinting toddler and incoming Gracia. You’re careful about how you bend down since you’re in a dress, but you lift her up nonetheless. 

“Well, hello there, my sweet little Elicia,” you croon before giving her kisses. 

“Sorry about that. We were getting ready to leave and she said that she was certain she saw her Auntie Poppy,” Gracia laughs. “Hello, Alphonse, Edward, and Alex. It’s good to see you all.” 

“Oh, good! I have flowers for you two,” you tell them. You hand Gracia her bouquet before removing your gloves for Elicia. She always loves when you transmute plants, and you’re worried about your alchemy given the current alchemic maelstrom happening in Central right now. You gather the other ingredients necessary, pick a single flower from her bouquet and change it into a bright blue poppy. 

“As beautiful as ever, Miss Poppy!” you hear Alex say as you hand her the poppy while giving her mom the rest of her flowers. 

Elicia beams at you and you send her away. Watching as they leave, the hairs on the back of your neck stand tall and you’re aware of that presence watching a bit further away. Just as you’re about to turn to Alex and the boys, two soldiers march forward.

“Major Armstrong!” they salute. Armstrong greets them before they notify him that he’s being summoned back to the Command Center and that they’ll be taking over the protective detail for the Elrics.

You wave as Alex leaves, bidding him farewell, and you decide that it’s probably best for you to finish your deliveries anyway. Before you leave, Alphonse calls back to you.

“Miss Poppy? Do you think we could take a look at your research sometime?” 

Pausing, you’re not entirely sure how to answer. You’re wary about sharing your research as they’re military, but you ultimately give in because they’re still _children_ and Roy wasn’t wrong about trying to appeal to that part of you that wants to help. 

“I-yeah. Yeah. You can get ahold of me through my brother, though when you see him, can you do me a favor? Can you tell him to stop introducing me to people as ‘Poppy?’” They start at your request, and when they ask, you give them your real name. They smile and bid you farewell as you continue on with your day.

❦

Within the next two weeks, you find yourself busy with work and Elicia ~~who is easily the most spoiled almost-three-year-old in existence between you and Maes~~. For the first week, Maes is gone, working long hours to compensate for the fire at the library. He manages to find an assistant, Sheska, who has a photographic memory and had read all of the military reports during her tenure with the library. He also pays for you to give her a flower arrangement as half of an apology for giving her so much work.

The following week, you thoroughly enjoy seeing him more. After the first couple of days, you notice the push knife that he has strapped to the back of his uniform and you challenge him to a duel, something neither of you had tried since before he left for the academy—he relents only after you promise _not_ to use alchemy. It ends in three draws over the course of five days of interrupted sessions. During the spars, you two open up and are able to truly, honestly catch up as siblings in a way that you’ve been missing. 

The two of you talk about the possibility of you sticking around more, though a trip to Xing is still needed. You’re still on edge, still anxious, but he reassures you that your friends all seem to consist of either trained military or combat freaks who have a greater chance of survival. He eases your concerns with a promise to remain ever vigilant against any attack, even going so far as to offer training with you—alchemy included.

You fall asleep on their couch, in the middle of reading the paper for a potential place to stay. The phone rings, and you try to ignore it. It’s not entirely unfamiliar—Gracia and Elicia have both learned to sleep through it, but it wakes you when there’s frantic shuffling behind their bedroom door. 

“Oh, Poppy. I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Wha’s goin’ on?” you slur.

“There was an implosion at a laboratory. Don’t worry about it, just get some sleep, okay?”

“‘Kay, but promise to come home safe?”

He laughs and you let the sound lull you back into a steady sleep. “I promise.”

❦

The day of Elicia’s birthday, Maes asks you for an unofficial favor of sorts. 

“Remember how I told you about the building that imploded?”

“Uh? No? Not really?” you say, trying to remember when he would have mentioned that. Elicia wiggles in your lap as you’ve stopped brushing her hair. 

“Oh. Well, I did. Anyway, the Elric brothers were involved and Edward’s in the hospital now. Do you think you’d be able to heal him with your Xingese Alchemy?”

“Xingese _Alkahestry,”_ you correct, gathering her hair and securing it with hair ballies. “And I’m not sure. I don’t know how his doctors are going to react—the doctors here aren’t familiar with me, Maes.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that! If anyone asks, just point them in my direction,” he smiles widely, conspiratorily, before dramatically dropping it. “Unless, of course, you don’t want to help?”

“You—!” you huff indignantly, upset at how well he knows you. How well he knows which buttons to press to get you to do what he wants. You tap Elicia’s head, letting her know she’s free to go, and she hops off your lap. “You are incredibly lucky that we are in the presence of the birthday girl.”

“Yeah! It’s my birthday!” she sings before dancing away to find her mom.

“So is that a yes?”

“Lead the way,” you sigh. You’ll get him back later. Manipulative ass. “We better be back for the start of her party.”

“I would never miss my darling little Elicia’s birthday party!” He kisses Gracia and Elicia goodbye while you grab your cardigan and put on your boots.

You convince him to let you drive—it’s been too long—and he tells you all about the boys. It’s clear that he cares for them, shares in your frustration at Roy having recruited them, but understands _why_ Roy did, especially considering he was unaware of _your_ circumstances. 

“Speaking of Roy, there’s talk of him being promoted to Central.”

“Good for him. God only knows he’s been working his ass off to get here. Hopefully, too many people don’t hate him for having moved up so quickly given his age.”

“That’s my concern, too. He needs all the allies he can get.”

You hum in response, not wanting to give the topic more thought.

“The best ally he can have is a wife,” he says with particular significance.

Heat rises to your face so quickly, you’re certain you’re about to combust. Your fist goes flying, socking him in his arm. He laughs in response, taking you by surprise.

“I told him as much and he hung up on me.”

He would. Shit, you remember all of the times Maes used to call and would try to say that you two loved each other, how you two would avoid one another for days. 

“Hey, Maes?”

“Yes?”

“Why did you invite Roy over after graduation?”

“ _I_ invited him? If I remember correctly, and I do, _you_ were the one to invite him.”

“Ha-ha, Maes. You and I both know that you wanted me to invite him. Why?”

“I thought you two would hit it off,” he shrugs.

“Oh, is that all?”

“Call it a gut feeling,” he shrugs with a wry grin.

❦

Maes gets you through all security checkpoints just fine, though the two soldiers guarding Edward’s room are a little more hesitant.

“Don’t worry, she’s with me.”

“But, sir, she’s a civilian,” Sergeant Ross says.

“And a bio-alchemist who may be able to help. We won’t be here for long—I just wanted to stop by before we leave for Elicia’s birthday party.”

The two soldiers share an uneasy glance, probably worrying about whether he’ll launch into a speech about how precious Elicia is. While _you_ find it endearing and love hearing about how much he loves his family, you know that others aren’t quite attuned to Maes’ level of enthusiasm or blatant love. 

“Okay. Edward’s in there with a blonde girl who’s servicing hi—”

Maes gets a stupidly giddy smile and pushes open the doors.

Oh, no.

“Yo, Ed, my boy!” Maes greets, grin only widening. 

What stupid thing is going to come out of his mouth?

“Is it true you brought a pretty blonde girl into your room to service you?”

Your mouth drops at the same time that Edward falls out of bed. Oh, how you _don’t_ miss being on the receiving end of his cruel teasing! Edward explains it away by defensively telling Maes that she’s his automail mechanic—impressive considering she has to be about the same age as Edward.

“Oh. I see. So you’ve seduced your mechanic have you?”

“Maes Hughes, knock that off!” you shout, smacking the back of his head. “Stop torturing the boy!” 

You turn to the girl and introduce yourself, Maes quickly following your lead. She introduces herself as Winry Rockbell and your heart stutters.

“You—you don’t happen to be the daughter of Yuriy and Sarah Rockbell?”

Her smile falters momentarily before giving you the affirmative. “Did you know them?”

“I-I did. They were wonderful people, absolutely awe-inspiring. To this day, I try to honor them in my own work, adopting their compassion as I go. It’s an undeniable pleasure to meet you.”

Her eyes turn melancholy and she glances down to stifle the incoming emotion only to pause. A grin slowly starts to form and she rushes around the bed to stand before you. “May I take a look at your automail?!”

“I, uh, yeah, sure, but I’m actually here to help Edward,” you say as she kneels to look at your leg.

He’s in the process of getting back on the bed when he turns to look at you. “Help me? With what?”

“I’m going to help heal you.”

“Heal me? I didn’t realize bio-alchemy was at that point yet,” he murmurs.

“It’s not alchemy. Well, not technically,” you throw out there as you take a look at the chart hanging at the foot of the bed. You should be able to help with a couple of the injuries, like his wrist, the cut on his head, and shoulder, but you won’t be able to do much about the one on his side. 

He watches in wonder as you set up the first Purification Circle. You focus on the flow of his energy, feeling the disruptions at the sites of his injuries. It’s redirecting the flow, encouraging it to return to its normal state, to a more natural cascade through the body and where it interacts with the earth. You repeat the process once, twice more.

“How’d you do that?”

“It’s called Xingese Alkahestry. It draws its power from a differing source than Amestrian Alchemy, making it easier to perform small healing techniques without erring into human transmutation.”

He looks a little ashamed at the mention of the taboo, the sin you’ve both committed, and Maes takes the opportunity to inform Edward that his protective detail will be dropped. Winry stops looking at your leg to turn to him, visibly displeased. When he won’t tell her what landed him the detail to begin with, she decides it’s better to leave, at which point Maes invites her to stay with the family. 

Before she can comment, he grabs her toolkit and starts walking away. 

“It’ll be easier if you say yes. Plus, you’ll be able to look at my automail as much as you want,” you explain as you follow your brother.

“I—uh, are you sure?”

“He doesn’t know how to take ‘no’ for an answer. It’ll be great,” you smile.

❦

It’s well into the evening and the party is starting to die down. Elicia absolutely loves Winry and it warms your heart to see how Gracia and Maes continue to whole-heartedly welcome anyone into their family who deserves it. She starts to express frustration at not knowing whether the brothers are okay, and when he starts giving advice, you begin to admire the man he’s become.

You know that war has changed him, that he still carries the burden of his actions in Ishval with him, but he works hard each day to prove that he’s worthy of his family. He works to make sure that he can bring them happiness and comfort, that he can do that for _someone_. He’s not the man you thought he would be when you two were younger, but you know that he’s better than the one you thought he’d be. You don’t know where you’d be without him, without his constant faith and support. 

Elicia’s friends ask for her to play with them and Winry gladly sets her down. She makes a passing remark about how Elicia’s already popular with boys and you immediately shoot a look at Maes, who is entering Protective-Father Mode. 

“Maes, I swear, I will take back every nice thing I was just thinking about you,” you threaten him, drawing his attention away from the kids who run off with Elicia. 

“See, Winry? Like men, my sister isn’t great at expressing herself with words, either, choosing to express herself with actions instead.”

“Hey! Don’t turn me into a lesson!”

“Are you going to share with us what nice things you were thinking about me?”

“Jackass,” you mutter under your breath and Maes laughs, knowing what you just called him. “I was just thinking about how great of a man you’ve turned into and how proud I am to call you family. Even if you ruin it with moments like these.”

“What I’m hearing is you like me.”

“No, what you’re hearing is that I love you, but don’t think that I’m going to go easy on you during tomorrow’s session. Especially for using me as a lesson.”

Winry laughs at the interaction as Maes wraps his arm around your shoulder.

For once, you think that maybe you really can settle down here and be with your family and wash the sin away little by little.

The following day, when you return from maintaining the flower shop and Maes returns from visiting the Elrics in the hospital, he comes up and hugs you, telling you that he’s proud of the woman you’ve grown into, too. He tells you that sometimes it’s nice to hear it aloud rather than relying on actions alone.

❦

Winry stays with you another night, and true to your word, you let her take a look at your leg. She nearly froths at the mouth when you explain the different metals and minerals utilized in the leg, how you help Dominic mine for ores before using your alchemy to specifically craft the components necessary for him to maintain the shape and size of your leg. The two of you stay up well into the night discussing automail, and she excitedly tells you of how she’s carefully crafted Ed’s arm and leg since he’s needed them, and what she plans to do.

The two of you end up sleeping in, missing Maes as he leaves to get the official report from the boys. As you near the hospital, you feel it—not quite human, but not a full homunculus. You ask her to trust you as you enter the hospital, staying ready to fight or flee depending on what it turns into, and you’re grateful when she does. What’s especially concerning is that the presence is coming from Ed’s room. When it starts to retreat, the two of you enter the hall to find a set of concerned soldiers standing outside.

“What’s going on?” Winry asks them, though they offer no response. Winry opens the doors, letting the two of you in.

Alex, Maes, Ed, and Alphonse are all standing near the open window with varying expressions of stress. Were they threatened? Why are they so… frightened? You filter through the pages of notes left on the table as Winry checks in with Ed, and you’re surprised to see Greed’s tattoo sketched out, along with an interesting transmutation circle you’ve never seen before. Why—?

“What’s in Dublith?”

Your head snaps up at the question, as Ed explains they intend to visit with their old teacher—though you knew of no other alchemist in Dublith. None, really, except those in South City, but that was an hour or so away. They pull out a map to show Winry where Dublith is, and she shrieks in excitement at the prospect of visiting Rush Valley. 

They start bickering as she demands he takes her to Rush Valley, and when it becomes clear that she’ll be joining them, you pull out your journal and write a note to Dominic for her. You already warned her that he doesn’t take on apprentices, but perhaps he’ll allow her to watch as he works? You try to incentivize him to be nice by promising to send him high-quality ores from Xing.

Before you leave, you turn to Maes. 

“We need to talk when you get home.”

❦

You share with him everything that you can about Greed, about how he’s a homunculus, how you had detected a homunculi presence in the hospital, even if he won’t tell you who was in the room prior to your arrival, how Greed is over two hundred years old with a philosopher’s stone at his core. You tell him this with the promise that he’ll sit on the information until you’re able to visit with Greed in Dublith and figure out what’s going on.

You know Greed. From what little Maes can tell you, this doesn’t sound like him at all, but you can’t shake the anxiety that builds within you at the danger these boys are finding themselves in and the makings of a conspiracy unfurling before you. Maes trusts you, tells you that he’ll keep the information close to the chest and he’ll wait for you to return. At his suggestion, you decide to wait until the end of the week to purchase your round-trip, giving you time to rest after building yourself up with anxious energy.

By the time the two of you settle your conversation, the sun is rising. You decide to stay up to bid him farewell, waiting for him to help ready Elicia while Gracia fixes breakfast. As he leaves, Elicia begs him to come home early since you stole him away yesterday. He bids Winry farewell, wishing her safe travels, and turns to you, telling you to get some sleep.

❦

It’s odd that he isn’t home already. You slept throughout the entire day, waking up well into the evening. Gracia tells you that he called earlier to inform everyone he’ll be working late. Your anxiety returns tenfold and you decide you’ll take a late jog through the city. 

You like it when it’s quiet like this, when the air is thick with lingering summer heat and the only sounds echoing through the streets are those of your shoes against the stone and crickets in the bushes. It’s less stifling at this time of day. The energy emitted from everyone is mellow, calm with sleep, and it allows you a better chance to think, especially as the city itself seems to be incredibly loud on its own.

There’s a distant gunshot and your heart stops in your chest. As you get closer, you feel the jumbled, angry spirit of a homunculus, different from the one you sensed yesterday, and—

no. no no no nonononono

You’re too far away, even at your fastest, and by fuck, if you aren’t full out sprinting. As you near, you scream for help, anyone, please, someone _help!_ But you already know that it’s too late—no one’s awake, no one can hear your screams.

He’s there, in the phone booth, but you can already tell that he’s too far away. His soul is leaving this plane of existence, something that you can’t fix. You doubt that offering the rest of you would fix a damn thing because there can’t be much left, not without your leg, not without those years you gave Roy. 

You call for emergency services anyway, but by the time anyone arrives, it’s already too late. It was too late when you had arrived.

They’re talking to you, asking questions, and you know you should answer, something, anything, but you can’t. You can’t hear them. You can’t find your voice. You can’t find anything other than this massive hole that has opened up inside you, something you haven’t felt in fourteen years. 

You’re just

e m p t y 


	6. Roy Mustang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It was so easy falling into you again, like losing my place in a book and then retracing my steps back into the past, to find the part in the story I left off._
> 
> Lang Leav, "Falling into You"

The phone rings, waking Roy up. After Hughes’ strange call hours ago, he’s been on edge. The call was patched through using the emergency code, and with everything going on, Roy was hesitant to reach out. He had barely fallen asleep an hour ago, and there’s a pit of dread in his stomach as he walks over to the phone.

“Roy?”

It’s you. You never call. Even when the two of you were together, you never called. This isn’t good. Your voice sounds hoarse, hollow.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s Maes. He—” your broken sob tells him everything he needs to know, but it’s four in the morning and he’s tired and in disbelief. “He was murdered.”

Time seems to stop, though the pounding of his heart reminds him of the contrary. Everything he wants to say turns to ash on his tongue. As much as he wants to deny it, convince him that it’s a nightmare, he knows it’s true. Your crying serves to remind him of that. You don’t cry. After everything that has happened in your life, it takes a great deal to make you cry, so much in fact that he’s only seen it once.

This can’t be real.

Except it is.

“I’ll…” He’ll what? There’s nothing that he can do. There’s nothing that can be done to make this better. He knows from the Elric brothers that human transmutation isn’t possible, though he understands their desire better than ever. “I’ll be leaving in the morning.”

He doesn’t even realize that he’s still holding the phone, that you’re still on the line, until you breathe out a small, “Thank you.”

❦

The funeral is put together within two days of Hughes’ death. It’s… unreal.

Elicia cries for her father, not quite understanding what’s wrong and it’s like a knife to the heart. He loved her so damned much and he was unafraid to let the world know. You and Gracia try to comfort her, but what kind of comfort is there during a time like this? When his child is forced to learn that he’s never coming home?

Even Fuhrer Bradley is upset by the news, by her reaction. Hughes was too good for this to happen. He was a better man, a stronger man, and there isn’t a single person in attendance of his funeral who doesn’t know it.

Hours after the funeral has ended, he’s still here, unable to leave. So are you. So is Hawkeye. You’re kneeling in front of his grave and the loss that rolls off of you is so immense that it drowns out his own. 

“Colonel,” Hawkeye says quietly, grabbing his attention, pulling him from his thoughts.

“Alchemists as a whole… we really are horrible creatures, aren’t we? There’s a side of me desperately trying to crack the theories of human transmutation right now. I think I understand what drove those boys when they tried to bring back their mother.”

You stand, slowly, the first time you’ve moved in a while, and when you turn, he’s taken aback by the smoldering behind your eyes.

“Don’t—not him. Not you,” you speak with surprising gravity, surprising clarity. “Trust me. It’s not—just trust me.” 

This is the most alive he’s seen you since arriving, and he thinks he’s starting to understand. 

Without saying anything more, you walk past him, towards the cemetery entrance. 

“Where are you going?”

“A bar. Can’t very well get drunk around Elicia, can I? Come find me when you’re done with your investigation.”

❦

Finding out the truth of Hughes’ murder has lit a new fire under Roy. It’s paramount that he knows why a good man like Hughes was killed, why his best friend was killed. 

Hughes was incredibly adept in combat and exceptionally intelligent, giving Roy the indication that whoever did this is extremely dangerous. 

He speaks with Focker, confirming that he was in the middle of an investigation of his own before he was attacked, but the way he left Focker without any clarification signifies that whatever he was looking into was something being kept close to his chest. 

The mess in the Archives Room paints a clear image of an attack, meaning that the attacker either has ties to the military or is skilled in getting past locked doors. The attendant in the phone room confirms what Roy already suspected—Hughes didn’t trust the military lines to be secure enough to communicate over. Whatever it was that got Hughes killed is massive. The guard stationed at the crime scene describes what they were able to confirm, including that _you_ were the one to find Hughes and report it in.

You know more than you communicated to the military. He knows this to be the truth, though the soldier here denies your placement as a suspect in the murder. Even if you didn’t tell them everything, he knows that you wouldn’t have killed your own brother. So what is it that the two of you were involved in?

Before he can give it any additional thought, Major Armstrong and Hawkeye approach. While Armstrong gives him no direct information, the information he _does_ provide is ample enough to draw a series of conclusions. 

He feels more confident in his ability to find out what exactly happened, though he still needs to talk to you, figure out what it is that you know. ~~And he’s going to pretend that this is the only reason he needs to see you right now.~~ When he tries to dismiss Hawkeye, she’s reluctant, citing concern over mixing him and alcohol given the circumstances, but she relents. He’ll clarify everything with her tomorrow.

It’s easy to find you—between you and Hughes, he’s familiar with where you like to go and how you behave when coping with loss. He knows that you’ll be avoiding your usual bars because they’ll remind you of Hughes, leaving only a small handful. Cross-referencing that with bars close enough to walk home, that leaves two. Only one of the two serves the rum you like. 

Sure enough, you’re at the bartop, nursing the amber liquor. The bartender makes eye contact with Roy as he enters, and he goes ahead and orders a whisky. You don’t look up when he takes the seat next to you.

“Hello, stranger. Fancy seeing you here,” you say, echoing that night from years ago, though the circumstances are vastly different. “Find out anything interesting?” As you bring the glass to your lips, the bartender places another rum in front of you, telling Roy that you’ve told him to keep them coming. 

“I did.”

“Oh? Care to share with the class?”

“You first.” You bring your gaze to meet his and he takes you in properly. Your eyes are red, almost devoid of anything but sorrow. Despite the careful appearance of your hair and clothes, it’s clear to him that you’re falling apart. 

You snort before taking a drink. “You asking as a friend or as Colonel Mustang?”

He’s too tired to pretend that the implication doesn’t sting, but he answers regardless. “A friend.” If you’ll let him.

Humming, you consider the man before you, your eyes betraying the smallest hint of hunger. Downing the rest of your drink, you summon the barkeep and tell him to settle both tabs. “In that case, we’re going to need somewhere without the chance of being overheard.”

He was right. Whatever you know, it’s big. He finishes his drink before leading you back to the hotel. Outside of your inability to walk in a straight line, there’s no indication that you’re drunk, which concerns him. When he offers you his arm to steady you, you take it, and it almost feels as though four years of absence never happened. 

But they did and you left.

❦

As soon as the two of you enter the hotel room, you head to the closet, grabbing one of the robes provided. It makes him laugh, the way old habits die hard, the way it seems as though nothing has changed when everything has. You slip into the bathroom and when he hears the shower turn on, he takes the opportunity to change out of his military dress.

What is he doing here? With you?

He can lie and say that he’s only trying to find out the truth, that he only wants to comfort the sister of his best friend, but it’s right there in the justification. A lie. You were right. The two of you were never friends. It was never that simple.

Hughes made certain of that when he had started telling Roy about you in the academy, and again when he manipulated you into inviting him to dinner that night. The two of you hadn’t been together long, though it was long for Roy. It’s not like he stayed true to you during the war, not like the two of you were exclusive or that there was any other expectation, but being around you had been intoxicating, invigorating. 

When he finally joined the combat, his mind wandered to you more and more. After Heathcliff’s death and Maes’ outburst, he had dreamt of you. He received your letter, and as much as he wanted to send a poppy in response, he couldn’t bring himself to. His hands were covered in too much blood, his soul too dirty. So when you appeared, unscathed, whole, relieved, when you wrapped him in your arms like none of it mattered, he let himself give in. 

It was easy being with you, despite the fear. It was easy to tell you of the things he did, and while you didn't excuse his actions during the war, you made certain he knew you supported his quest to do better. The two of you had been exchanging flowers, plants, communicating what you both were too afraid to say aloud. It had all been so deliberate, except, for whatever reason, he wasn’t certain when he had bought the cornflowers and lilacs, whether they were for him or for you, but even now, five years later, they haven’t died. Perhaps it was weakness, why he couldn’t seem to get rid of them. Perhaps it was the part of him that placed astilbe in your journal, the part of him that meant it.

Steam billows out of the bathroom and he feels the change in the air before he hears the small squeak of the door. You come out, hair damp, wrapped in the robe, and it’s like nothing changed. Outside of the overwhelming grief in your eyes, your posture, the largest reminder of the truth is your tattoo. Havoc had told him when you had started the process—two years ago, a series of poppies. 

Now false indigo, eucalyptus blossom and leaves, and phacelia that decorate the space around the base of your neck, trailing down your shoulders, your back. The most startling one is the white peony against a black background.

_Death, protection, purification, endurance, shame._

Whose death are you ashamed of? Are you trying to offer protection for yourself, or for others?

You sit on the foot of the bed before laying back, legs dangling off the edge. He knows you, despite the years. You want to talk, and he doesn’t need to push for answers. Maybe you’ll finally tell him everything you didn’t when the two of you were together.

There’s a small intake of breath before you speak.

“‘Ve I ever told you how I lost my leg?”

He glances at you through his peripheral. “It was the accident that resulted in your twin’s death, right?”

“I—no, not exactly. I wasn’t by his side when he was killed, and I didn’t lose my leg until three days later. After our parents died, we dedicated ourselves into maintaining their legacy, to learning what we could about dad’s research into Amestrian history, into mom’s alchemy. Except, Basil didn’t care about bio-alchemy, about the possible medical applications of it. He only cared about one thing in regards to that. I told him to forget about it, that it wasn’t worth committing the taboo. But when he died, I ate my words. 

“He had figured it out—human transmutation. He had spent three years doing all the research necessary. When I found his research notes, it took only three days to get everything ready. There’s a toll for performing human transmutation, for seeing the Truth. That’s how I lost my leg. That’s how Alphonse likely lost his body and Edward lost his limbs. I was going to die, bleed out, except that the owner of the bar next door had woken up and came to yell at me. He took me to the hospital and helped get me back in contact with the Hughes’ family.”

“He’s the one you visit in Dublith each year?”

“Yes.”

“Why haven’t you told me any of this sooner?”

“Shame. I—I didn’t want you thinking any less of me,” you admit wistfully.

“But what does this have to do with Hughes?”

“I’m getting there. Remember what I told you about Aerugonian culture? The religion?” When he hums in affirmation, you continue. “For me to have committed the ultimate taboo, it is believed that I have blasphemed God, that I have damned my loved ones to bloody, violent deaths. But I’ve dedicated the last fourteen years to finding out a way for alchemy, and now alkahestry, to be used to help. Perhaps if I dedicate my life to helping others, I can pay for my sin so that my loved ones don’t have to.”

Knowing this, the extent of your conflicted feelings, explains a lot. It only pains him that it took Hughes’ death for you to share this.

“When I was in Xing, I learned how to read the Dragon’s Pulse.”

“What’s that?”

“Instead of using the tectonic energy of the earth to perform their transmutations, they tap into the energy that flows from every living and natural thing. Using that, acting as a conduit to fix subtle disruptions in the flow of chi, I can heal small wounds. But it also means that I have an easier time finding people.”

“How do you mean?”

“Everyone’s chi is specific to them, like different flavors, or frequencies, almost like associative synesthesia. I don’t know how to describe it, really, just that once I’m familiar with someone’s chi, I can find them if they’re nearby. That’s how I found you in East City that one day. That’s how I knew it was Maes who was shot.”

He turns to look at you head on now, but your eyes stay glued to the ceiling as silent tears stream down the sides of your face. Without thinking about it, he reaches a hand to wipe them away and you lean into his touch, just a little. Even now, with traces of alcohol dancing through your system and grief coursing through you, you won’t allow yourself to relinquish control.

“I’m not familiar with who shot him, but I know they weren’t human.”

When he freezes, you turn to look at him and he sees the colossal pain in your eyes and the danger that’s simmering beneath the surface. 

“What do you mean?” he demands, slowly.

Instead of answering his question, you steel your gaze, challenging him almost. “You’re still doing everything you can to change this country for the better, right?”

It’s burning, this question you’re asking of him, this question you already know the answer to. But you need to hear it, and when he answers in the affirmative, you seem to lose some of the edge. 

“Good. I warned Maes the night before he was killed, but I’m not sure what it was that got him killed.” You push yourself upright, something having shifted in your demeanor. Pushing yourself off the bed, you start to head back to the bathroom. “I’m going to start looking for answers of my own. Maes mentioned you were likely to get a promotion. Is that still happening?”

“Yes. And I plan to go after the senior staff and to find vengeance for Hughes.”

Pausing in the doorway, you turn back to assess him. “Be careful, Roy.”

“I made you a promise, didn’t I?”

“I suppose you did.”

“Poppy?” You hum in response, and your eyes soften like they used to. “Stay.”

“I—”

“Just for tonight. Please.” No one can quite draw out such solicitation from him like you, and he knows that it’s a moment of weakness, but from this point forward, he can’t afford to be weak. He may as well take it while he can.

You don’t answer, not verbally, but he knows the second you face him with your entire being that you will. Perhaps you need this moment of weakness, too. As you step forward, the time, the absence, the reality of your having left, all of it disappears. 

“Just for tonight.”

❦

The sun filters through the curtains, and as he turns, the light catches in his eyes, waking him up. The space previously occupied by you is empty, and as his eyes scan the room, adjusting to cognizance, he sees you dressing yourself near the bathroom.

“Oh. You’re up. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” he grunts, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Leaving already?”

“I need to pack. I have a train to catch. I went ahead and ordered breakfast for you—don’t worry, I already paid for it.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“No. But would you have eaten if I didn’t?”

“Probably not.”

“Well, then. There you go.”

You pull on your coat and walk over to the side of the bed. As he props himself up on his elbows, you sit.

“Take care of yourself. It won’t do well to have the future fuhrer dying of negligence.” He isn’t sure whether it’s an impulse or a conscious decision, but regardless, it’s comforting in ways he won’t describe when your hand caresses his cheek.

“No. It won’t. Poppy?”

“Hm?”

“Can I count on your support?”

A small chuckle leaves you. “There’s never been a day when you didn’t have it. But make sure you have the support of others, too.” Your thumb strokes his cheek before you lean in and press a chaste kiss to his lips, murmuring a phrase in your mother tongue that he’s learned means ‘until next time.’ 

The night before replays in his mind as he prepares himself for the day. It leaves an odd taste in his mouth, something caught between nostalgia and lamentation. 

Three sharp raps on the door signify Hawkeye’s arrival, and he’s surprised to see her standing with the cart of breakfast you had ordered.

“I take that it went well?” she asks dryly, pushing it in with the barest hint of exasperation.

“It… left me with more questions than answers.”

“She usually does, sir.”

He removes the lid, revealing two different dishes—one being a complete breakfast, something you used to make for him after particularly stressful days, and another being a brasillé and tea. Hawkeye smirks at the inclusion, taking the food you’ve ordered for her.

“I didn’t realize you two were that close,” he says, picking up his plate and placing it on the table. Hawkeye hands him the napkins, and as he unfolds the top one, he notices pressed flowers. Some things never change.

Dark geranium, star anise, lavender, and astilbe. _Sorrow, luck, protection._

_I’ll be waiting._

“Did you learn anything that can be useful?” Hawkeye asks, deliberately ignoring the attention he’s giving the flowers.

“She said that the person who killed Hughes wasn’t human, but she didn’t elaborate on what they were. She also told me that she had warned him of such the night before. We know he was helping the Elric brothers, which only adds to the danger that the boys find themselves in. It also indicates that they’re stumbling onto something much larger than anticipated.”

“Not human? What could they be if ‘not human?’” 

“I’m not yet certain, but I won’t stop until we find out.”

She finishes her food in silence and his attention is drawn back to the flowers. 

With the grave reality they find themselves in, it’ll be more prudent than ever for discretion, but also for allies. That phone call with Hughes still rings in his mind— _“Just a word of warning from someone who knows the game—you need as many people on your side as you can get your hands on now, Colonel.”_ Here, he has no allies, save for Major Armstrong. He needs his team, the men he explicitly had chosen and trusts.

_“Can I count on your support?”_

_ “There’s never been a day when you didn’t have it.” _

Even after you left? No. Knowing the religion of your mother and her parents, knowing the altercation you had in South City, you would have believed yourself to be a hazard to those around you. Perhaps—

“Hawkeye.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Has Poppy ever told you about her brother? Basil?”

“I-uh, no, sir. Why do you ask?”

If you haven’t told her, then perhaps you’ve kept this closer to your chest than he’s realized. “Never mind. We should get going. There’s much to do in East City.”

Hawkeye regards him curiously before nodding. “Yes, sir.”

He’s going to get to the bottom of this. He’s going to make it to the highest office in the land and work to undo all of the wrongs that have been committed. He’s going to protect the people of this land. 

He has to.


	7. Azaleas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _when they buried me alive_   
>  _i dug my way_   
>  _out of the ground_   
>  _with palm and fist_   
>  _i howled so loud_   
>  _the earth rose in fear and_   
>  _the dirt began to levitate_   
>  _my whole life has been an uprising_   
>  _one burial after another._
> 
> Rupi Kaur, "i will find my way out of you just fine" 

You arrive in Dublith just after a storm has passed through the area, torn between naïve hope and impenetrable fury. 

The night after having told Maes the reality of the tattoo, of the homunculi, he ends up dead. Coincidences don’t exist. It isn’t a coincidence that it was a homunculus that you sensed leaving as Maes bled out. It isn’t a coincidence that the presence you had sensed in the hospital is the same as at the funeral, as Fuhrer Bradley. It isn’t a coincidence that you’ve felt homunculi around the city, nor that the tattoo came up. 

You’d been scouring alchemic texts throughout the trip here, trying to find any indication as to the purpose of the transmutation circle you had come across that day in the hospital, but it’s come up empty. It would help if you knew _what_ exactly the boys had been researching, what exactly Maes had been helping them with. 

Turning the familiar corner, you find Dolcetto waiting on the steps outside with Roa. 

“Whoa, Poppy, we weren’t expecting you,” Dolcetto greets with a warm smile. It’s immediately off-putting when you don’t return it.

“I’m here to see Greed. Where is he?”

“Are you okay?”

“No. I’m not.”

“He should be down below,” Roa informs you, looking uneasy at your marginal hostility. 

Nodding, you head into the bar. Bido is unsuccessfully hiding while Martel tends the bar. You don’t greet them as you detect that Greed is alone in the basement.

“Hey! I told you guys I had—Oh. I wasn’t expecting _you._ Change your mind? Ready to stay with me full time?” he asks casually, turning to see you standing in the doorway. Even behind those glasses, you can tell that he’s taking in the rigidity of your figure, the stiffness of your clenched jaw. 

“No, Greed. I’m here for answers.”

“Answers? I don’t know what you think I’m not telling you—”

“My brother was murdered by another homunculus.”

He falters in whatever speech he was building up and a flash of some unidentifiable emotion flits across his face. “And? What makes you think I had anything to do with it?”

The careful steps of your boots against the concrete echo in the room as you approach him, a push knife easily slipping into your waiting palm. Gripping the base with your fingers, you use it to point at the red tattoo on the back of his hand.

“He was looking into other homunculi with that tattoo. I want to know where it came from, and I want to know who else has it.”

“I’m sorry babe, but I’m afraid I don’t keep up with those people any longer.” When you narrow your eyes, he gives you an unimpressed scowl. “Please. Don’t insult me. When have I ever lied to you?”

“Do lies of omission count?”

A heavy sigh leaves him. “Look. I truly don’t know where they are or what they’re doing. I haven’t seen any of them since I left over a hundred years ago. What I can tell you is that if they’re up to their old tricks, you should stay away.”

“Duly noted. So when you say old tricks, what do you mean?”

“Listen, kid, you don’t want to know—”

“Like hell, I don’t,” you snap, letting the anger that’s been simmering beneath the surface boil over.

❦

The fire that burns through you is new, foreign. You’re so used to running that the ferocity to fight catches you off guard. But something snapped with Maes’ death.

The presence of the homunculi during Ishval, the blatant slaughter when the Supreme Cleric offered himself in exchange for the lives of his people. What little Greed told you of the “Master Plan” has confirmed what you had long suspected about philosopher stones. When you showed him the mystery transmutation circle, he confirmed its purpose.

You’re still missing large pieces of the puzzle, but getting to them will put you at risk, and you’ll need to be careful in ways you haven’t been before.

There’s a twinge in your heart as you wait at the train station, but you weren’t about to help him figure out the key to ‘immortality.’ Not when a philosopher’s stone is made from human souls. Not when he’s already the product of countless souls, butchered for selfish desire—even if it wasn’t _his_ selfish desire that created him. The reason for his extended life is that he’s slowly burning away the time that had been afforded those souls, one by one. Even if he were to bind his soul to a suit of armor, like Alphonse, the risk to his safety would remain the same. Not to mention, you’re not even certain he has a soul since he’s the amalgamation of thousands of individual souls bonded with a singular characteristic of a greater being, a greater whole.

Now you just need to find that “greater being.” 

The familiar chi of Bido nears and you do nothing to outwardly acknowledge him, not until he calls your name.

“Yes, Bido?”

“You didn’t mean it, did you? When you said you weren’t coming back?”

“Is Greed going to give up his quest?”

“No, I don’t expect he will.”

“Then there’s nothing more for me to say. He may not be involved in my brother’s death, but he’s sure as shit leading you all down a dangerous path lined with the bodies of innocents. I want nothing to do with it.”

“What makes you say that?”

“What he wants can only come at the expense of others. I’ve been telling him for years that it’s not worth it, but now that I know _more_ , I can’t in good conscience stay,” you say with a heavy sigh. You want to go back, fight, scream, demand the rest of what he won’t tell you. It’s easier to stay mad at him, to stay mad, _period,_ because the alternative is self-blame and despair, far less productive than anger. But— “Don’t think for a second that means I’m abandoning you, any of you. You guys are still family, even if I can’t stand Greed right now.”

“Oh. Okay,” he trails off. Guilt eats at you a little, so you promise to give them a call once you get your own place in Central. 

You can’t stay with Gracia and Elicia anymore, not with the memory of Maes suffocating you there. But you’ll stay close and do everything you can to protect them. You’ll do everything you can to stop this, to stop the trail of bodies left in your wake.

### Late Summer 1914

Your apartment is more plants and books than liveable space, but it’s yours. It’s been four years since you’ve had your own space—well, five, if you consider that you basically lived at Roy’s place throughout most of 1910. 

True to your word, you had made sure the chimeras could contact you if they needed anything. Not if Greed needed anything, but if they did. Roa, surprisingly, was the one to call for weekly updates, excited to have a way to contact you regularly. In the time since you had known them, you hadn’t a stable home, so you had been the one to reach out. You never really appreciated how much you must have meant to them, but they won’t leave Greed’s side, and you have no interest in returning to Dublith anymore.

You visit with Gracia and Elicia every day, always outside of the apartment, encouraging Gracia to get out of their shared space. It’s… unbelievably hard. Different from when you lost Basil. Back then, Mr. and Mrs. Hughes tried to be there for you, tried to put you through standard grief counseling, but it didn’t work because they only understood half of the problem then. Maes understood some of the pain, but, again, he was missing the whole picture. 

Now, though, you have Gracia and Elicia. Maes told her everything, shared everything because it was a true partnership. You don’t mind her knowing everything he knew of you, but you also know that because of the relationship they had, it hurts all the more for her. Having them demands a greater sense of responsibility from you, demands that you take greater care to ensure your safety as well as theirs. 

It’s different. Difficult. But you won’t run away from them. Not this time.

❦

When you’re shopping through the market and see Riza, you know that Roy and his team have officially started at Central. You walk her home, catching up on superficial topics, careful not to mention much in public. 

Her apartment is small, tidy, but not without warmth. The two of you catch up with more personal matters before you tell her of some of the secrets you’ve learned, the danger you all find yourselves in, the danger that the Elric brothers are stumbling into. She confirms some of it, but hardly comments on most of what you tell her and you understand why. Before you leave, you promise to bring a housewarming plant the next time you visit, lamenting the distinct lack of green in her space.

Jean visits your shop, and while you originally thought it was happenstance, he pays for his bouquet and slips a note with the money. He smiles before giving you a wide smile and a wish for luck on his date.

Unfolding the note, you find a phone number and an apparent order for sweet peas, white camellias, and bougainvilleas. Using the phone in the shop, you dial the number given. You’re put through to an exasperated military operator who asks you to hold while she connects you to Colonel Mustang. 

When he answers, you give a false greeting. If he’s going through the trouble of contacting you like _this_ to set up a meeting, much less via his military contact, it can’t wait. ~~Motherfucker could have just stopped by the shop himself but fine.~~

Two hours later, you bring your cart of flowers to the park and find him near the phone booth. 

“Colonel Mustang,” you greet, grabbing his attention. Your eyes scan the landscape and you find Hawkeye not too far from him, but far enough to offer a semblance of privacy. He’s lost weight. The circles under his eyes are dark, though his eyes brighten when they land on you. 

As you near, you start to work on an arrangement for him. 

_Azaleas._ His eyes flicker to the pink flowers and he has the grace to look a little admonished. 

“So who’s the lucky lady this time?” you goad.

 _Maidenhair fern._

“Some girl from the south.”

“Oh? _Some girl,_ eh? She sounds really special,” you tease with a light scoff, but the message is clear. 

_Iris._

“A friend of a friend, or so I hear. It’s an arranged date of sorts. A favor.”

You hesitate in your movements. “Do I know this friend?”

“Perhaps. You’re employed by his mother at times.”

_Garden Cosmos._

“Oh. That’s kind of him to do that for you. Hopefully, it works out this time,” you fix him with a wry smile as you incorporate the last flower.

_Night Phlox._

You slip in a note with an address to finish the message. When you meet his eyes again, he nods, understanding what you’ve communicated thus far.

_“Take care of yourself. Be discreet. I have a message for you—talk with me tonight.”_

“Good luck, Colonel,” you smile as you leave with your cart. You’re aware of the presence that watches from just beyond the tree line, and despite wanting to look, wanting to see what’s watching, you keep your eyes ahead. They aren’t watching you—they’re watching him, which makes this entire thing more dangerous.

Why? Why are they interested in him?

❦

Two raps on your door, later than you expected. Opening the door, you’re glad to see him. You don’t feel it, whatever it was that was watching earlier, but you’re still hesitant.

“You weren’t followed?” When he shakes his head, you let him in.

“What happened in the south?” you ask when he’s inside. 

“Why is it so dark in here?”

“You were being watched earlier. I have no interest in them catching onto me more than they already have,” you explain as you pull out some candles. 

“How—? Alkahestry?” he asks, pulling on an ignition glove and lighting the candles.

“Yeah.”

“That’s handy,” he comments, looking for a place to sit in your apartment. He gives up when he spots your kitchen chairs buried under books. “You said ‘them.’ Do you know who they are?”

You click your tongue against your teeth, remembering the confrontation with Greed, the reluctance with which he spoke of his previous family.

“Not quite. What I do know is that they’re homunculi. They were in Ishval. I feel them in Central at times, and I know of one in the South.”

“Wait—,” his eyes widen at the information you’ve dropped in his lap. His mouth opens and closes, not quite sure where to start. “Homunculi? That’s impossible.”

“Oh, if only. The man who saved me? He’s a homunculus. That’s how I knew that whoever killed Maes wasn’t human. I confronted him in the south after the funeral.”

“So that’s where you went.”

“Yeah. But you said something happened in the South?”

“Major Armstrong returned from there shortly after I arrived in Central. There was an altercation with Fuhrer Bradley resulting in at least nine deaths. They… weren’t quite human.”

Pain shoots through your heart at the news. Was Greed among the dead? Were there any survivors? Shit. You hide your face in your hands as the loss of them sinks in.

“I see.”

“What did you mean when you said they were in Ishval? How would you have known that?”

His question pulls your attention back. “I was there.” Disbelief coats his face in response. “I had to do something. I couldn’t stand by while people were being murdered. I worked with Amestrian doctors who had been working with Ishvalan patients to get them out of the country. I-I felt them. I felt at least three. It was like they were drowning out everyone else around them, but if it weren’t for my training with Alkahestry, they would have probably found me and killed me for interfering with whatever they were doing.”

“How—why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I felt it wasn’t my secret to tell you.”

“And now?” His question is almost reluctant, like he’s afraid to know the answer. Maybe he is. Maybe he’s wary now, knowing that you were _there_ when he was compelled by Order #3066. 

“I know you well enough now that I trust you and your mission completely.” The look that he gives you is evocative of when he returned from Ishval, when he spotted you at the train station. Your eyes flicker to his lips, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

In an instant, his lips are on yours while his hands pull you closer. It’s familiar and urgent and contains everything that both of you have been feeling since the last time.

The last time. It was supposed to be just one time, but now, with his arms around you, you can’t seem to pull yourself away. Each second more you spend here, like this, with him, you find yourself resisting less and less. ~~Traitorous body.~~

His hand snakes into your hair and he gives you a light tug, pulling a heady whimper from you. You feel his smirk, and you nip his bottom lip in retribution. His grip tightens as he pulls you back, small victory in his eyes as he takes in the desire and defiance in your features. 

“After all this time?” he murmurs.

There are so many ways to finish that thought, most of them true. After all this time, you still want him. You’re still responsive to his touch. You still want more. You’re still just as hopeless as you were years ago.

_“We’re all going to die anyway, so why not spend time with the people you love and who love you in return?”_

“After all this time.” 

His eyes linger on your lips and this time you’re the one to close the distance. The kiss is brief, but far more tender, far more languid and sweet, leaving fluttering in your chest and burning skin wherever his hands fall. When you pull away, his expression is soft and it’s as though no time has passed between you, as though you’re coming home after a long journey.

And it scares you.

“Roy,” you whisper, torn between wanting more—cause _godfuckingdamn_ do you want more, you want anything and everything this man has to offer—and wanting to run. “What do you want? From me?”

He hesitates, considers you. “I—”

You’re afraid. You’re afraid of rejection. That he won’t want you, not really. Why? It’s crippling, and it pushes you to speak. “You don’t have to tell me right now, but think about it. Please.”

You hardly ever plead, much less with him, and it’s obvious in the consideration he gives. He leans into your hand as you caress his cheek, and you allow yourself a moment of repose.

“It’s getting late,” he comments.

“Oh, honey, we’re past ‘late.’”

“Unless you’re inviting me to stay the night, I should probably leave.”

“Give me an answer, then we’ll talk about you staying the night. In the meantime, I’ll give you mine.”

His brows furrow as you pull away completely, stepping into your bedroom for one particular flower. Completing your circle, you alter it slightly. You enter the main area of your apartment again and hand him the single poppy, a promise that went long unfulfilled.

### Two Weeks Later

The Autumnal Equinox is right around the corner, and you’ve been surprisingly busy at the flower shop. Jean comes in at least once a week to pick up flowers for the girl he’s trying to court, Solaris, and he tells you that he wants to bring her over to meet you. It’s endearing, and you hope that _this_ relationship will last. Kain stops in and you accept the coffee he gives you in exchange for a bracken fern for his apartment. 

You pick up a paper on your way home that evening and are surprised to see the soldier who had been acting as a guard to the Elric brothers on the front page, accused of Maes’ murder. This—

This isn’t right, and you know it, but how are you going to refute it? No one in this nation knows about Alkahestry, nor about the ability to detect chi. Fuck. 

Before you can think about it, you head to the park nearest Central Command. In doing so, you nearly collide with Heymans and the man you’re looking for. 

“Poppy? What are you doing here?”

You thrust the paper in Heymans’ hands and fall in step with them. 

“You know as well as I do that this is bullshit,” you mutter to Roy. “I’m not about to let her get shafted just because they suddenly want to sweep this under the rug.”

He doesn’t say anything, eyes intent on the phone booth, the same that Maes was murdered in. He steps inside and places a call while you wait with Heymans.

“So how is it that you know it’s not her?” he asks in your mother tongue.

“It wasn’t her chi I sensed that night. She was nowhere near the park.”

“Chi?”

“It’s Alkahestry. To simplify the explanation, it’s the Xingese equivalent of Alchemy.”

“Huh. Why don’t you tell them that?”

“Do you think they’d believe me? ‘Hey, so I know it’s not the woman you’re blaming because I sensed the presence of something completely different that night using a skill that no one in Amestris is familiar with.’”

He laughs. “‘Suppose not. So what are you going to do about it?”

“Well, I have experience subverting the government. Why not put it to good use?”

“Really? You don’t care about your citizenship?”

You give him a deadpan look. “What do you think, Breda?”

Roy steps outside of the booth with a piece of paper, handing it to Heymans. The latter reads the list aloud, balking at the notion of potential human transmutation—it’s not. When Roy mentions his lack of experience with human anatomy, he gives you a pointed look.

“This will be dangerous. Are you in?”

“I’m not even going to pretend to know what your plan is, but you already know the answer to that.”

“I don’t want to put you in harm’s way—”

“Roy. I’m going to stop you right there. Just tell me what you need.”

### The Desert

You hate traveling through the desert. The metal of your automail burns your skin, but you’ve been doing this long enough that you know better than to complain. What’s different about this time, however, is your traveling companions. ~~Sergeant~~ Maria Ross, freshly broken out of Central Prison, and Master Fu, retainer of Prince Ling Yao. 

Two years ago, you had hired merchants and smugglers from three different border clans to provide supplies when necessary to Xerxes to cut down your trips from once every other month as you had started to travel more westward in that time. It just so happens that one of the merchants, Han, will be arriving shortly.

Fu is familiar with him, surprised that it’s _you_ who’s been financing the regular excursions, but it serves only to reassure Maria of this entire plan. She’s anxious, about leaving home, her family, her friends. She hates that they’re doing this to her, that they’re blatantly framing her for Maes’ murder.

You offer to communicate with her parents, at the very least reassure them that you, as his sister, know she had nothing to do with it, and she sits on the proposal. She listens intently as you and Fu talk about Xing, about alkahestry and alchemy. He’s surprised by how much you know of alkahestry, of the Dragon’s Pulse, and you’re intrigued by the way in which he incorporates the latter into his combat. When she asks, you tell her of the beauty of Xing, the way you were welcomed into your host clan. 

This next part of her life won’t be easy, but she’ll be alive. You can’t let anyone else die for whatever scheme the homunculi have underway.


End file.
